Final Wisdom
by Fuzzy Peaches1
Summary: A short fence separates her careful world from absolute anarchy, and yet Jamie Taylor has bigger concerns in her life than the biker living next door to her and her nephew.
1. Prologue

Alexander "Tig" Trager paused for just a moment, turning back to the sleeping form in the bed. After the slightest hesitation, where he contemplated the possibility of _not _being the asshole he usually was, he knelt down next to the mattress, elbows on the edge. Peering into her face, half-hidden by her dark hair spilling over her cheek, he knew it was too late to avoid being an asshole.

This was, by far, one of the worst things he'd ever done. And he'd done some fucked-up shit, to be sure. But _this _… this even gave _him _a bad taste in his mouth.

An asshole. He was _such _an asshole.

He reached out with one hand to carefully slide her hair back around her neck, uncovering that face, so sweet and vulnerable in sleep.

He didn't _do _sweet. He didn't _like _sweet. He owed it to sweet to just leave it alone and walk away.

But he hadn't. God knew he fucking tried, but … the asshole that he was could not be denied.

"I'm sorry," he whispered quietly, flinching that she might actually wake and hear it. The he stood, slunk from her room and silently shut the door behind him.


	2. Chapter 1

**One year earlier - May**

Tig scowled at the bright display in front of him. "Go get me gum,"Gemma had said.

"What kind?"

"Just … _gum_. Doesn't matter."

He shook his head. There's a wall of gum. What the fuck did he know from gum? He was going to ask the broad standing next to him, leading her kid down the aisle looking at the opposite side of shelves. But she looked like _regular _people. In the TM neighbourhood especially he tried not to hassle the regular people.

He reached for a peppermint flavour and a fruity bullshit one too, just to cover the bases. As he did, he felt a tug on his wallet chain. He looked down under his outstretched arm. The kid wasn't paying attention to his mom; he was reading a book and absently reaching out, looking for her arm or pocket or purse or something.

"You trying to jack my wallet there, Charlie?" he said, loud enough to make the kid jump.

Which he did. The kid's glasses nearly fell off as he jerked his hand back, leapt about two feet vertical, then just stared up at Tig as he pushed his goggles back up his nose. His mouth hung open like a goldfish, and Tig spared a moment to feel bad for scaring him.

"It's okay kid," he assured him, stepping back and bringing his arm down again. "I'm just messing with 'ya."

"Calvin, what are you doing?" the broad pushed past behind Tig to take the kid by the arm. "Try and keep up with me, Peanut. I'm so sorry -" she began, casting a look Tig's way with a smile before her words and face froze.

Tig was used to this reaction. Most regular people were scared of him, the broads in particular. Especially the ones with glossy, walnut-brown hair, sharp chin and giant blue-green eyes, who looked like they showered every day and never woke up a place they hadn't intended.

Not that he was noticing.

"S'okay," he assured her. "He tried to take my wallet, that's all."

"Calvin!" she admonished, disproportionately shocked.

"No I didn't," the kid was whining.

Tig cracked up, bringing her head around his way again. "I'm kidding. He didn't try to do anything. He thought he was grabbing your purse, I'm sure." Now that he was looking, it was a black one with a chain strap. Honest mistake.

She set her jaw, and something in the way her eyes flashed made his cock twitch, just a bit. "Is that what we do for fun? Scare little kids?"

A regular broad with a bitchy mouth. He felt himself smile. "I was playing around, baby. That's it."

She pulled the kid past him. "Play with someone your own size next time," she muttered, heading for the cash register, the kid staring up at Tig as he was dragged past.

"Later, 'ya little klepto," Tig called out, chuckling as the kid pulled his eyes away and double-timed it to get ahead of his mom.

He lined up behind them, not even trying to ignore her legs under those shorts, and the curve of her ass and hips. Nice tan. Nice legs. _Great _ass. Her waist sunk in above it, the lines of her back showing under the tightness of her T-shirt. His hand was itching to grab that hair too but he held back, noticing that the kid was peering around her hip to stare up at him again.

Tig smiled at the kid, who darted back into the comfort of mommy's stomach. Tig hoped she was putting him in karate or some shit, otherwise that kid was going getting his clock cleaned every day at school.

When she'd paid for her stuff and hustled the rugrat to the door Tig was blatant about watching her the whole way. Those hips swayed like she knew how to use them, and he was pretty damn sure she didn't know how much she was telling with that walk.

He felt the clerk staring at him, but he just tossed the gum on the counter, an eye on the door. He could still see her walking with the kid through the parking lot. Tig sniffed, cracking his neck when a tingle flared up along his jaw and back to his spine. It was the tingle he always got when he had a whiff of _sweet_, and he always fought against it. _Always. _He didn't need that kind of …


	3. Chapter 2

"Bullshit," Jamie Taylor muttered, looking over her final pay check from the Charming Town Office. It wasn't quite what she'd hoped for. It was a good thing she'd sold her house and moved into this cheap rental. But that final check being so small was really going to impair how she and Calvin could live these next few months. Hopefully it was only a few months. Then she'd have to start looking for a job again.

She chewed her nail, running her totals for the umpteenth time. She was going to cancel cable, make Calvin start getting all his books at the library, and there was to be _absolutely _no eating out.

Which stunk. Calvin was eight. He_ was _living without any perks, and that sucked so much for a kid who was already incredibly socially awkward. Every time she told him they'd have to cut back on something he'd just adjust his glasses and shrug.

And this wasn't his fault, it was totally hers.

Jamie had expected being laid off when she told them about her impending medical treatments. She'd have to keep paying off her medical insurance for this reason, which was a lot of money. And if _they_ didn't cover her she was so beyond screwed.

She looked through the dining room window, smiling at the sight of her nephew on a patio lounger, nose buried in a book. He was reading the Hobbit. Again. He was beyond the rest of his grade in reading, comprehension, and mathematics. So smart, in spite of his genes.

Jamie's sister Jaclyn had been smart in school, but none of it transferred into life skills. She'd travelled after high school, which was common. Then she wanted to model. Then she was going to act. But first, and foremost, she had to be high 24-7. Jaclyn also had no idea who Calvin's father was. She'd been on a week-long bender, was pretty sure there were about three guys for sure she'd been with, but she wasn't … _certain_. So whatever disgusting milkshake she'd created managed to produce a healthy, adorable son. She'd gone straight for about a year and a half after he was born. The she was off and wild again.

Jamie's parents worried about Calvin as much as she did. They had started a trust fund for him he would inherit at eighteen, and it would pay for college, maybe even a down payment on a house when he was ready for that. It was a relief to know it was there.

When her parents died in a car accident three years ago, Jamie hadn't waited. She adopted Calvin immediately. With Jaclyn's drug habit racking up five-digit numbers she didn't want to risk his mother taking away his college fund. And as long as Jamie was Calvin's legal guardian she couldn't.

_That _had sucked up all her savings and a lot of her inheritance. Jaclyn tried to fight for custody in court, and Jamie knew she had her eye on that cash. It's what made her fight back.

She won custody, and life would all be fine if she didn't get sick.

Jamie covered her mouth, feeling a sob working its way up her throat. She didn't want to cry, she didn't want Calvin to know how scared she was. He knew she was ill. He knew he'd be staying with Crazy Great-Aunt Thelma while Jamie had to go to the hospital for an operation. And he knew after a while Aunt Jamie was going to get sick … very, _very_ sick.

Stage two breast cancer. Yeah, scary fucking word. _Cancer_. Small masses that had come back from the biopsy as _cancer._ So a lumpectomy was booked for the week after school was done so Calvin could go stay with Jamie's aunt, Thelma. Aunt Thelma was the cool aunt when Jaime and Jaclyn were growing up. She never got married, never had kids, lived in the country with an ever-changing menagerie of dogs, cats, ducks, chickens, she'd even had goats at one point.

She made folk art, grew organic vegetables, made money at the farmer's market with homemade preservatives and played the guitar. Aunt Thelma was awesome, yet Jamie had the suspicion Calvin might be scared of her. But he'd never argue if this was Jamie's decision, and there were no other options.

She pushed the papers to the side, her mind now distracted with hoping again that she recovered from the surgery fast and could get through chemo before the bank account ran dry. She just had to stay relaxed, calm, and let Aunt Thelma take care of the both of them.

Jamie started as she realized Calvin wasn't on the lounger anymore. She crossed to the sliding glass patio door, scanning the yard. She still couldn't see him, but something was making a lot of noise in front of the house. A low but loud rumbling that shook the glasses in the kitchen cabinets. She crossed the crowded living room, still piled high with boxes from the move, and pushed the screen door open.

Calvin was next to the driveway, leaning on the short fence that separated her driveway from the neighbour's. He was trying to sneak a peek at the source of the noise; motorcycles. Two of them, in the neighbour's driveway. A man was sitting on the one that was running, smiling at Calvin, shouting, "How you doing, little man?"

The other bike was just parked on the driveway, waiting for its rider. She winced. When she'd toured this property, and in the past five days they'd lived there, she'd never seen the neighbour. She didn't want to live next to someone with a loud bike. And this man in front of them right now wasn't a weekend biker who worked at the bank during the day, either. He had the leather vest on with patches on the front that didn't read anything as generic as "Harley Davidson."

Shit. This was bad. No wonder the rent was so agreeable.

"Calvin," she called, her voice _sounding _strained to her own ears. He turned to look at her, then looked back to the bike.

Jaime didn't want to grab him and pull him away, show fear and over react. So she tried again. "Calvin, could you come inside please?"

He kept _staring_. He'd been terrified of the one at the corner store. _This _one, while not looking quite as scary at first glance, was apparently fascinating to an eight-year-old. On the opposite side of a fence.

"You should listen to your mom," the stranger suggested.

"She's not my mom," Calvin declared, clear as a bell.

Jamie's mouth fell open as the biker laughed. "She's not, hey?"

Feeling like she _had _to do something now, Jaime stalked down the stoop towards her nephew, trying to keep her back straight and her head high.

She felt the stranger's eyes on her. She ignored him. "Calvin, I asked you to come inside."

"Relax, sweetheart. I'm staying on my side of the fence, swear."

She looked at him then, and up close he was infinitely more scary. He had a bit of scruff on his jaw. She couldn't guess his age, and with the helmet on all she really knew was he had olive skin that had seen some sun, dark eyes that cut deep, but his smile seemed _too _genuine. She didn't trust it.

"I don't like it when he ignores what I'm asking," she explained.

"I'm sorry Aunt Jamie," Calvin said immediately, making her feel like a supreme bitch.

"You don't have to be sorry honey," she said, more gentle. "You just have to mind what I'm asking you. Okay?" He nodded, and she pulled on his arm. "Now come back into the house, don't bother the neighbours."

"No bother, honey. Promise."

She caught the man on the bike winking at her. She looked away too quickly, sped up too obviously but didn't care. She was looking for a new place to live _immediately._

"The fuck ..?"

At the sound of _this _voice she turned, willing herself to wake up from the nightmare. There was no way. There was absolutely No. Fucking. Way.

The asshole from the corner store was on the house stoop, stopped while sliding on sunglasses. Looking a lot like he lived there.

As in, next door to her and Calvin.

"Aunt Jamie!" Calvin exclaimed. "It's the man from the store!"

She didn't respond. She met his gaze, feeling that same terrifying chill run down her back as his eyes met hers momentarily before he slid his shades on completely. She hustled Calvin up the steps, and for once Calvin recognized the concept of body language and he hurried along with her.

Yes, definitely living somewhere else. Anywhere else but here.


	4. Chapter 3

"What you thinkin', Tigger?" Hap asked on a laugh. "Don't tell me you're tapping the neighbour. I call bullshit on that … unless you show up Tased and pepper-sprayed."

"Nah man," he said absently, swinging his leg over his bike. "I just didn't know the old neighbours moved."

That wasn't true. He'd seen them throwing their flea market furniture in a pick-up in the dead of night and figured they were ducking out on the rent. The guy that owned that place was a known slum lord. Not that it made a lick of difference to _him_, he just wondered why a broad that put together was renting such a shit hole.

"Tig? The fuck, man?"

Tig kicked the bike to life. "What?" he snapped at Hap.

Bastard just shook his head. "That's the kind you gotta stay away from, Tigger."

"You don't think I know that?"

"Then quit with the lovey-eyes and let's go, man. Pussy won't fuck itself."

"Yeah yeah," he replied, backing the bike out of the drive. He hit the neighbour's house with a last glance over the shoulder and saw that weird little kid peering out the front window at him. Not thinking about it at all, he raised two fingers to the brim of his lid in a half-assed salute. The kid waved back.

SAMCRO's clubhouse was already loud and crawling, and the sun hadn't even gone down yet. Whenever the Nomads were in town they made themselves at home like they were their own hospitality committee or something. Bikes clogged the parking lot, people were all over, and as he killed the bike and climbed off he could already smell the grass and booze. Yep, it was definitely Friday night.

Tig and Hap wordlessly sauntered to the clubhouse doors, thirst driving them through throngs of familiar faces and willing bodies. The prospect at the bar saw them coming and wisely set up whiskey shots without having to be asked. First one went back smooth, second one even better. Third one down and that annoying twitch in Tig's neck lessened. Then he and Hap surveyed the evening's distractions.

"How's that blonde, man?" Hap asked.

Tig knew which one he meant – she was newer, meaning she was the only one Killer hadn't hit yet. He shrugged. "Nice tits. Bit of a stiff ass. Mouth is better than anything else."

"Good enough," Hap grunted, heaving away from the bar and making his way to the blonde in question.

Tig kept his recon going, looking for a particular girl to start the night off. There was lingering _sweet _tingling along his jaw, and he had to get rid of it before he lost his damn mind.

The black-haired bitch he wanted was occupied with a Nomad at the moment. The rules of hospitality dictated they had first crack as out of town guests.

He raised his eyebrows with disappointment, head tilted in defeat there and continued his search. When the door opened he felt himself stand up straighter, instantly hard behind his fly.

New meat, right off the fucking bus by the looks of her. Her skirt was short and denim, ripped at the bottom. Her tank top was tight, ripped a bit at the neck to show off her decent cleavage. It was her hair he noticed as she swept sunglasses off her face. Shit, her hair was chestnut brown, glossy as hell and almost to her ass. Just like the sweet piece he had living next to him.

He downed one more shot and headed right to her. Gemma tried to deflect him, seeing the look on his face.

"Tigger, take a breath. We don't know who that is."

"Does it matter?"

Gemma raised an eyebrow. "Use your brain, honey. Only head cases walk in here on a Friday night alone."

Tig was still staring. No one else had caught a whiff of her yet. "Fuck Gem, give me a break. I won't kill her, and who better than me to show her the error of her ways? She'll learn. _Tomorrow_."

Gemma huffed. "Your funeral, Tigger. Just make sure she's out by morning."

"You got it, doll."

His obstacle gone he strode to her fast, eyes starting at her feet and riding up when she caught sight of_ him_. She tossed her hair back, smiling at him with only half of that mouth. "Hey," she said breathily, not even intimidated by him. "Buy a girl a drink?"

He ran a hand over his mouth and down his chin, eyes on her chest. "I think I can do that. What you drinking, beautiful?"

She moved a half-step closer. "Whatever you're having is fine."

She may be fresh meat to Charming but she certainly wasn't a stranger to _this_. He gave her another scan and jerked his head to the room. "Then come on in."

She trailed behind him through the crowd to the bar. He held up two fingers to the prospect who quickly grabbed another shot glass. Tig leaned on the bar facing the girl, and she mirrored his posture, close enough that their knees were touching.

"What are you doing here on a Friday night, sweetheart?" Tig asked, downing the whiskey and propping his head on his hand like he was dying to hear the answer. As he hoped she laughed and her chest shook with it.

"I was feeling … kinda sorry for myself," she said, setting her empty glass on the bar. "I've been trying to be a good girl lately."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah."

"That sucks."

"It does," she agreed, copying his overly familiar tone.

His dick kicked again as he realized she had ocean-blue eyes like his neighbour, just not quite as big and round. "You're terrible at the whole good-girl thing," he noted playfully.

"No, I'm not."

"Brutal."

She leaned closer, stepping into _him_. Half his brain wondered what the hell she was on, because she didn't look drunk yet. The other half of his brain was fixated on the additional skin he could see between her breasts. "It's not my fault. I keep running into people who are bad for me."

"You do, sweetheart," he said, done with the cutesy shit. He grabbed her wrist before she could set her hand on his chest. "You have any idea where you are right now?"

She smiled, not missing a beat despite his no bullshit face and cold tone. "I'm in your clubhouse," she said slowly. "We're having a drink. And then you're going to fuck me."

He worked his jaw, staring down the stranger and remembering Gemma's words for no reason. "We've got girls here that don't give us any trouble. Are you going to be trouble?"

She leaned closer to his ear, her breasts pressing against his arm, and he felt his eyes close. Fuck, they were real. "I'm only as much trouble as you want me to be."

Tig guessed she was about two levels away from rock bottom. Sure she looked halfway put together, but clearly she was spiralling down. Like he gave a shit; these were the girls you could basically do whatever you'd like with.

"Let's go," he said, and her smile widened.

"Right behind you."

Like a good girl she followed him down the hall to the dorms, knowing her way around an MC clubhouse apparently. It should have made him nervous but it didn't.

In his room he flicked on the lights and locked them inside. When he turned to her he realized she was carrying a bottle of Jack. "Where the fuck did you get that?"

She took a swig, wide-eyed, and nodded to the door. "At the bar. It's almost empty, don't worry."

He tried to grab it from her but she playfully held it behind her back. She was being cute, but something in her face went hard when he was this close.

Tig grabbed her by the back of the head. "Hand it the fuck over," he barked.

She flushed. He saw her cheeks actually get pink, and her lips parted so she could breathe. All right then; it was going to be _this _kind of evening.

He yanked the bottle from her hand, took a mouthful, then sank to the edge of the bed. "Take off your clothes," he instructed roughly.

No hesitation; she swept the tank top off, unbuttoned the skirt and let it hit the floor at her ankles.

"All of it," he prompted, and she unhooked her bra, which fell straight to her feet as well. When she started pulling the panties off she turned around, giving him the ass view as she bent to work them all the way down, stepping out of them, giving him a flash of the view with parted legs.

He took another drink. Her legs were a little skinny for his taste, but the ass was plenty nice. Unfortunately from this angle he could see the track marks on the backs of her knees.

When she turned around she became stock-still, awaiting his next instruction.

"Come here," he said before taking another drink, leaning back on his elbows.

She approached him, completely confident in her nudity, reaching for his belt buckle.

"On your knees," he snapped, and she complied, dropping to the floor between his feet before unbuckling the leather at his waist. From here he figured she didn't needing any more help from him. She bit her lip while working his pants open, reaching inside and finding him hard and ready.

"Wow," she whispered. "That's impressive."

"Not what I want your mouth doing," he instructed, and without another word her head dropped down as she wrapped those lips around his erection. He took another drink, eyebrows high as he realized she knew what she was doing. No problem with the deep-throating and the girl's tongue had skills, too.

Another drink and his eyes were closed, feeling the build-up. Her hand was working his balls, the suction just right. "Fuck," he muttered, "that's perfect." He came hard, back jerking, grunting, and opening his eyes with a laugh. "Damn," he was saying, then stopped when he noticed the room was swaying around him. "Wait. What the hell?"

"Something wrong, baby?" she was cooing, but he couldn't focus on her. He shook his head, blinked his eyes, and tried to see straight.

"What the fuck?" Even sluggish like this his brain had one moment of clarity. He looked at the bottle. "What the fuck did you do, bitch?"

She was still between his knees, wiping her bottom lip. She just grinned as his head got too heavy and hit the mattress, the world slowly fading to black.

* * *

**On holidays until August 26th so I hope this will tide you over. Reviews and comments always welcome!**


	5. Chapter 4

Jamie was woken rudely by loud pounding on her front door. She figured it was a drunk local and waited for them to realize they were at the wrong house. Then she considered Calvin being startled awake this late and she got to her feet groggily, reaching under her bed for her Louisville Slugger and half-stumbling to the front door to see what the hell was going on.

She flicked the porch light into action, grabbing the cordless phone off the entertainment centre at the same time in case she had to call the cops. Then she peered out the peep hole.

And immediately considered going back to bed.

"Jamie? Fuck you, Jamie. I know you're in there, you turned the light on."

_Shit_. She groaned, fighting back the urge to drop to the floor and kick her feet in a tantrum. That's what she felt like doing, and being considerably older than _six _didn't make her feel any different about her sister showing up in the middle of the night with what was likely to be a tsunami of drama trailing after her.

How the hell did she know they even moved?

Jamie took a deep breath, set the phone back on its charger, and flipped the dead bolts over, figuring it wouldn't do to wake the local wildlife and draw any attention to herself. Jaclyn thrust herself against the door, apparently Jamie was taking too long, and swung around, locking the door behind herself.

"Thanks, sis," Jaclyn whispered.

"Oh, _now _you remember the eight year old in the house?" Jamie whispered back. She flicked the foyer light on, wanting to make sure Jaclyn wasn't entirely fucked up.

She seemed steady, but she still dressed like a slut. Her skirt was short enough to show ass cheek, and her shirt was ripped down the front so far Jaime could see the mole she had right between her breasts.

"Jaclyn, what do you want?"

"I took a cab to your old place. Some guy told me where you'd moved to."

Jamie sighed. Small town. She already knew how it happened; Jaclyn showed up at the old condo just as politely as she had here, woken up some poor resident who had informed her where she could find her sister.

"Then you took a cab here? Do you need cab fare? Because we're kinda tight for cash Jaclyn -"

"I know, I know. Don't worry little sister." Her sister's eyes were too wide and bright as she dug in her bag, breathless with excitement. "I'm here to help. Look."

She pulled out a black, well-creased wallet and flipped it open. "I hit the mother load. Look at this." Jamie felt her stomach sink as Jaclyn pulled out a heavy wad of bills. "Look at this! How much do you think this is? Looks like about two grand to me!"

Jamie watched her sister lick her lips as she regarded the handful of money. She was so excited her pupils were wide … _too _wide.

"Shit Jaclyn, what are you on?"

Her head jerked up, contrite. "What? What do you mean?"

"Your eyes, Jackie. You're spun right out. What did you spend some of that money on?"

Jaclyn licked her lips again. "Just a little something. I needed it. I was on a fucking bus all day!"

"What did you take?"

Jaclyn sighed. "It was just a bit of cocaine. Nothing too serious."

"_Pot _isn't too serious. Cocaine is fucking serious, Jackie."

Jaclyn gave her a wide-eyed look of regret. This was the thing about her little sister; she wasn't just a horrible bitch when she was messed up. She was easily agreeable, self-deprecating and apologetic to a fault. Jamie knew it was an act, part of her manipulative personality, but right then Jamie was too tired to stay strong. She was _always _tired these days.

"Look, just … tell me whoever you stole this wallet from is far, far away."

"Oh, don't worry. When he wakes up it'll take hours before he knows it's gone."

Jamie rubbed her face. "Shit. Tell me you stole it while he was in the bathroom?"

Jaclyn looked at her feet. "Just a little Dramamine in some Jack Daniels."

Jamie groaned. "Fuck! I hope this was just some regular guy you conned into a motel room tryst, Jackie. If this was someone scary like last time -"

Jaclyn shook her head. "No, I swear it. This guy sold … fucking, hot tubs. I can't remember. He wouldn't shut up about them."

Jaclyn was a terrible liar but Jamie didn't have energy for an argument. "Extra blankets and pillows should be in one of these boxes somewhere. Sleep on the couch, and keep it down. Calvin will be up early for cartoons, so … expect to be a sad sack in the morning."

"Okay." Jaclyn grabbed her in a big, warm, booze-smelling hug. "Thank you, Jamie!"

"Just go to sleep." With that she left her sister in the living room and stumbled back to the waiting comfort of her bed.

…

"Auntie Jamie?" the voice was cautiously polite. "Auntie Jamie? It's nine o'clock."

She opened one eye, smiling at the sight of Calvin in his pyjamas, standing next to the bed, hands resting on the mattress as he looked at her with curiosity. "What's up, Peanut?"

"You better come. Mom's making breakfast."

Jamie sighed, closing her eyes and willing herself to just pass out for a week. She'd managed to forget about her sister while sleeping. It had been glorious.

"Okay," she grumbled. "I'm getting up. Go watch TV."

She'd always lectured on the dangers of Calvin using the stove without supervision. The truth was she'd trust him to operate the gas range before Jaclyn.

At least she couldn't smell any _burning _as she yawned and stumbled to the living room. Calvin was nestled in some blankets on the couch, immersed in cartoons. She pattered into the kitchen, taking note of the mess all over the countertops. She hadn't unpacked all the kitchen wares yet, so boxes were partially unpacked, anything Jaclyn didn't need were discarded wherever it fell or was set down.

"What are you making?" she asked, setting herself down in a chair at the kitchen table, yawning yet again.

Jaclyn smiled at her brightly, flour on her cheek. "Pancakes. I found your pyjama pants in a box while I was looking for pillows. Hope it's okay."

Jamie hadn't even noticed that Jaclyn's denim skank skirt was gone. "It's better," she assured her sister. "Calvin doesn't need the birds and the bees talk early just because he got an eyeful of where he came from."

Jaclyn just laughed, flipping the pancakes she had in the skillet.

"Did you actually sleep?"

Her sister didn't look at her as she shrugged one shoulder. "I guess. A little."

Jamie shook her head, crossing her arms on the table and letting her head fall forward onto them. "Christ, I'm so exhausted."

"I know Jamie. That's why I'm here! I'm helping."

Jamie had to admit that breakfast smelled awesome. She dragged her sad ass off the chair and set the table, getting the butter and syrup, dishes and flatware while Jaclyn prattled on about all the fantastic things she'd seen and where she'd been the last three months.

Breakfast was served at the kitchen table, with Jaclyn asking Calvin all the polite questions an aunt would ask when visiting. It was a strange demographic, but it worked for them for whatever reason.

Calvin helped load the dishwasher, and Jaclyn sat staring at him while Jaime brought two mugs of coffee to the table for them. Jaclyn was shaking her head as she took a sip. "He's so awesome, Jamie. He's so smart!"

Calvin could hear her of course, but he just sniffed and pushed his glasses up his nose, his ears turning a bit red.

"He _is _smart," Jamie confirmed. "Teachers all say he's the brightest in the class. Right, Peanut?"

"Yes, Aunt Jamie."

"I'm so sorry you're sick, Jamie." Jaclyn said quietly. "It … it should be _me _getting sick."

Part of the manipulative personality again, but Jamie wasn't playing into that. "We have no say over this stuff," she said. "I just wish I didn't lose all of mom and dad's money fighting for custody," she said it quiet, but Calvin was smart enough to know what they were talking about.

Jaclyn set her coffee down. "I wouldn't take his money, Jamie."

Jamie just scoffed.

"I _wouldn't_," Jaclyn hissed through clenched teeth.

"You'll steal it from strangers but not your son? That _does _makes you a good person."

Jaclyn fell silent, her lower jaw thrust to the side to show she was pissed. Now we were getting to the ugly truth; the fact that Jaclyn was still half gone and the addiction was very much in control.

"You know what?" the ugly side finally spat out. "You win. Sit here and feel fucking sorry for yourself. Play mommy martyr and collect all those fucking _sainthood _points. But don't you ever imply I don't care."

"You _don't_," Jamie said back.

"Fuck you, Jamie."

Jamie got to her feet. "Get out."

Jaclyn looked shocked. "What?"

"Get out of this house."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean -"

"You _never _mean anything. You show up here at three in the morning, wake up your son, show a handful of stolen money at me and expect it to make anything better? You're not welcome here until you're straight, Jackie. I can't have you in here with … stolen property and controlled substances. You need to _leave_." She saw tired, and overly cranky, but she meant every word. This was as close to an intervention as her sister was going to get.

Jaclyn's eyes teared up, ready to play for the sympathy. Jaime had seen it too many times. "I'm sorry, Jamie," she whispered, standing slowly like she'd just been beaten. "I'll go."

Calvin had quietly slipped out of the room to watch TV, and Jaclyn left much the same way. Jamie's heart was pounding hard and her blood was _roaring_; but it never lasted long. She felt the exhaustion again and had to sit down, calming herself with even breaths. She didn't have energy to waste this way, not in the morning anyway.

When Jaclyn returned with her bag she put a pile of money on the table. "At least take this, okay? Put it in an emergency fund or something."

Jamie eyed up the money. It was all different denominations, crumpled. She didn't want to know _who _Jaclyn got it from. And she certainly didn't want it on the table she ate her meals on.

"I don't want it, Jackie. I mean it."

Jaclyn sighed. "Won't it help though?"

Yeah, it would. Of course it would. "I don't want it. It's stolen. And that's not what Calvin needs to see, Jackie."

Her sister gathered the cash, head down, and shoved it back into the wallet. As she did so, one panel flopped open, the window displaying a California driver's license.

Jamie froze. "Shit," she whispered, snatching the leather back from Jaclyn.

"What?"

Jamie stared at the photo ID, her stomach twisting. "Fuck, Jaclyn. Is this who you robbed?"

"Why?"

She flipped the wallet over to show her sister the photo. "_This_ guy? Did you happen to notice the street address on this ID?"

Jaclyn frowned. "No. Why?" She leaned forward, then her eyebrows shot up. "Oh, fuck me."

"Nice work, Jaclyn. You said he was a hot tub salesman! Why can't you rob people that _aren't _armed?" she was shouting, heart rate flying to catch up with her anger.

Jamie shoved the wallet at her sister again, grabbing the phone. "I'm calling you a cab. And you're going right to the bus station and getting out of town. But _first _you're going next door and putting that wallet in his mailbox."

Jaclyn looked at her like she was insane. "What? No I'm not."

Jamie carried the cordless to the window off the dining room that overlooked her driveway and the neighbour's. The bike wasn't there. Thank Christ.

She whirled on Jaclyn, who had followed her. "You _have _to give it back, Jackie. Those guys are dangerous, you know that, right? And _this _guy scares the shit out of me."

Jaclyn huffed. "Can I keep some of the money?"

"Are you insane? Jackie, I … aren't you _scared _of people? _Ever_?" That's when the cab dispatch answered the phone, and Jaime ordered a car to her address. She was told it would be there in ten minutes. She hung up the phone, shaking her head. "Christ, I hope he's not back soon."

"He'll sleep until noon, trust me."

Jamie took a deep breath. "You can't come back here until I find another place. If he sees you -"

"Don't worry, Jamie."

"Don't tell me not to worry. Do you _have _death wish or are you just this fucking stupid?" She felt bad saying it, but her only recourse was to lock herself in the bathroom and run some cold water to splash on her face while praying the cab got there before her neighbour returned home.

When she was calm, again, she dried her face and returned to the living room. Jaclyn had the same zoned-out expression as Calvin while she watched the TV, and Jamie felt her heart break. Jaclyn got to be his biological mom, and once Jamie was through chemo she'd be unable to have kids.

That was the most unfair fucking thing about all of it.

She went to the kitchen for more coffee, and when she returned to the living room she caught sight of a car pulling up to the curb. "Cab's here," Jamie snapped, and Jaclyn automatically got to her feet, grabbed her bag off the floor and made for the door. Calvin got up and followed to see their guest "out," because he was having manners bred into him at the moment.

They stood on the stoop, Calvin in front of her, and Jamie held his shoulders while Jaclyn sauntered down the walkway. Then she had a thought and turned around. "I want to come back for Calvin's birthday, though!"

Jamie sighed. "Jackie, you can't. If I were you'd I'd stay the hell out of Charming!" As she said it she heard the bikes, and her heart probably _stopped_ at that moment.

Jaclyn turned towards the sound. Jamie wanted to scream at her to get in the cab and get gone, but the bikes were there _fast_. Too late Jaclyn's survival instinct kicked in and she started for the car.

Three bikes stopped in front of her neighbour's house, and one pulled into the driveway. That bike's rider ripped his helmet off fast, stood, and Jamie felt cold, crippling fear. It was her neighbour, the one whose photo was in that stolen wallet. And he was pissed.

"You," he shouted. "Stop right the fuck there and don't think of moving."

Jaclyn was scurrying though. Jamie was frozen in place, like she was watching a lion about to pounce on an antelope.

He moved fast for someone so large, and he caught up with Jaclyn by grabbing her ponytail and pulling up on it, making her shriek and nearly lose her footing in the stupid heels she had on.

"Go inside," Jamie told Calvin, reaching in the door and grabbing the cordless phone off the entertainment centre.

"Honey, you dial that phone and I'm going to break it," a voice said, and Jaime jumped. She found the man who spoke, a mountain-sized biker with long hair and an impressive beard, who was standing at the foot of her driveway, hand held up.

She just stared, and his eyes got big.

"Put the phone down," he instructed. She brought it down to her side and started to head inside and he _tutted, _bringing her back around. "You stay where I can see you. Not gonna hurt you sweetheart but I don't want you calling the cops, either."

Jamie had never been this scared in her entire life, and _she _wasn't even the one being tossed around. Her hands were sweaty and shaking, and she could only stand there while her neighbour grabbed her sister by the shoulders and slammed her against the cab.

* * *

**Comments and reviews, as always, much appreciated and welcomed.**


	6. Chapter 5

Tig thought he was dreaming when he rolled up on his place and saw the bitch from the night before heading for a cab right on the street he lived on. Being robbed had him pissed enough, but the headache from whatever the fuck she'd slipped him made him extra miserable.

No one had seen the bitch leave. Gemma had been distracted by a cat fight and this little pick-pocket had waltzed right out, totally undetected. It had been two hours before anyone realized he was even missing. Talk about fucking humiliation. And having Gem be the one to find him, passed out with his dick hanging out was the fucking icing on the cake.

Tig caught up with the bitch quicker than he would have thought, and when he had her by the shoulders he couldn't help but shove her up against the side of the cab hard. "Where's my wallet, bitch?" was all he said. His voice was cold and calm, totally at odds with how anger had his head buzzing.

Her eyes were wide, terrified. That made it a bit better, but not much. He pulled her away and slammed her back again. "Where's my wallet? You think you can come to my town on the back of a brother's bike, steal my roll and get away with it? There's no fucking way. Where's my wallet? Or we're all gonna take it out of your ass, sweetheart."

She swallowed hard. "It-it's in my bag. All the cash is there, I swear."

He yanked the bag off her arm, handing it behind him. He didn't know who took it, but someone started going through it. Not only was he robbed but he was also fucking humiliated with an audience.

"Got it man," Quinn said, dropping the bag to the ground. He heard it, didn't see it.

Tig gave her one more shove. As he did it, he heard a little voice, clear as a bell, crying out, "Stop it!"

He turned, ready to tell someone off, when he saw the neighbour on her front stoop catch that kid by the arm before he could launch himself down the stairs. He looked scared but he also looked angry enough to take a piece out of Tig.

His own reaction was beyond peculiar. For the first time in … who _knew _how long, he felt absolutely ashamed. He looked at the kid's blue eyes, big and worried behind those glasses, and then turned to the woman he had cowering in front of him.

"Don't touch him," she begged, mistaking his blank look. Apparently she thought he was going to hurt the kid. She sputtered, hands fluttering around until they rested on his chest, pushing under his kutte. "Please. I can make it up to you. Just … leave them out of it. Please."

Tig grabbed her wrists and shoved her hands away while his brain processed through this fog of rage. That kid called his neighbour his aunt. And this bitch kinda looked like the neighbour; it was what made him take her to his room the night before.

"That's your sister and your kid?" he guessed.

She licked her lips, trying to step into him again. He shoved her off. Keeping his madness at bay, because he knew that was a hell of a lot scarier, he extended one finger, almost touching the end of her nose. "You're fucking lucky." She winced as he brought his face closer. "I see you in this town again, your sister here gets all the trouble intended for you."

"Please -" she whispered on a sob, but he wasn't in the mood for listening.

"Get the fuck out," he instructed, cold and calm again. She nodded, opened the cab door. He turned back to Quinn, grabbed the bag off the lawn and tossed it in after her then slammed the door, just missing her fucking ankles.

The cab sped away faster than he'd ever seen a cab move.

Quinn was holding out his wallet. Tig yanked it away, opened it and thumbed through the bills. "Fuck," he muttered.

"How much did she get?"

"About four hundred." He shoved the wallet back in his jeans pocket.

"Should we go after her?" Quinn offered.

"Nah. Fuck it. My own fault, right?"

"Not entirely," Quinn quipped. He turned to a guilty-looking Nomad, still sitting on his bike next to Hap. "No more travelling pussy, right Bowie?" The bastard had the sense to look just as embarrassed as Tig was.

Tig had no idea how Bowie convinced Quinn to let him bring the bitch along to Charming. But it didn't matter. He was stupid for not listening to Gemma.

"What about them?" Quinn asked quietly, jerking his head the direction of the neighbour.

Tig sniffed. "She's terrified of me."

"And?" Quinn raised his eyebrows. "What if she calls the cops?"

Tig narrowed his eyes over the Nomad president's shoulder, catching sight of the neighbour pushing the kid back in the house. "I'll talk to her."

He pushed passed the huge Nomad prez, stalking across the grass to the stoop. Somehow the neighbour heard him, and she shut the screen door, whirling back around and holding her arms to the sides like she was blocking the door, protecting the kid.

The shame flared up again. Christ, he'd never hurt a kid, but clearly she didn't think so.

"Your sister's a real fucking problem," he observed.

She shook her head, her breathing making that chest rise and fall. It was nicer than her sister's, he could just tell. "She doesn't live here. She's a drifter."

"She the kid's mom?"

"Yeah. But I have custody."

"He's pretty fucking lucky then, isn't he?"

"She doesn't live here," the woman repeated, still scared. "She just shows up every year or two."

Tig felt his shoulders relax, just slightly. He was still pissed, but this woman with her big eyes had him keeping himself in check. "Relax, babe. I'm not going to hurt you _or _the kid. But she can't show her face here again."

"She just shows up. I never ask her to."

He watched the way she calmed herself down, impressed with that self-control. Most women didn't have that. But he also couldn't stop looking at her tits; she had some thin-strapped shirt on with matching pyjama bottoms, so he knew very damn well there was no bra underneath. His palms were itching to feel them.

"What'd she give me? Do you know? Am I going to start looking for a vein in an hour?"

She took a deep breath. "She said it was Dramamine. It's an anti-nausea medication, makes people tired. Shouldn't be mixed with alcohol."

"Well that explains why I'm not sick then," he muttered, rubbing his aching head. Then he stopped. The anger was gone. He felt calm again. His hands weren't even shaking anymore. Tig cast a wary eye to his neighbour, and it made her slink back from him further. "How'd you do that?" It was a surprise to him that he said it out loud.

She frowned. "What?"

"Tig, you ready to go or should we leave you two alone for a while?"

Tig felt his lip curl as Quinn shouted but he was right. He had to get out of there; this woman was making him antsy. Without another word he crossed the lawn to Quinn.

"Wanna go beat up some Nazi shitheads?" Quinn asked with a big grin.

Tig nodded, heading for his bike. "Let's do it."

"You sure? She's got a nice rack."

"Forget it man, just … leave her alone."

The request was strange enough that Quinn knew enough to not say another word; just climbed on his bike. As Tig turned the engine over he looked back at the neighbour's house, but she was gone.

* * *

**Thank you so much for all the new favourites and follows! As always, thoughts and reviews are received with appreciation.**


	7. Chapter 6

**Late June**

"Thank you so much for helping with this," Gwen Davidson said amiably, pulling out her wallet. "Last minute house guests, you know how it is."

In an effort to put more cash in the bank before treatments Jamie had started cleaning houses. It was exhausting work, but she could pick the hours and be home by the time Calvin was done school. Plus the extra money was needed for house reasons: the main bathroom of her rental was constantly growing mould on the ceiling. There had to be an air leak in the wall somewhere, carrying humidity to the back of the drywall. There was no bathroom fan, either. When she confronted her landlord he'd told her, in a rant laced with plenty of four-letter words, that he'd only pay for the materials. She'd have to hire the labour.

In other words, the more expensive part. She wasn't in a position to argue. Other properties for rent were even worse, and anything "in between" this rent and the kind of rent she couldn't keep up with without a full-time job just didn't exist. She was stuck in that damn house, stuck cleaning other people's houses, and that damn bathroom was going to cut into her savings no matter what.

Which brought her to this point. The Davidsons were the first to take her on, and their gorgeous home in Charming Heights was super-easy to clean. Minimalist, no knick-knacks, and Gwen Davidson tipped handsomely because it was always an on-call basis. This particular day Jamie had just finished cleaning a small one-bedroom wartime house inhabited by an elderly lady who couldn't see all that well when she got the call. The Davidsons were expecting company on the weekend, so she'd appreciate it if Jamie could stop by that afternoon.

Of course she took it, but now she kept checking her wristwatch. Calvin was likely home ten minutes ago. She knew he'd just wait in the backyard and read, but that biker next door still made her plenty nervous.

Being in the Davidson's house made her nervous, too. It wasn't because of Gwen; the woman was wonderful, she just didn't like cleaning and had married a rich guy. It was her _husband_ that gave Jamie the creeps. The one time he'd been there while she worked she felt the need to take a shower. She preferred to be gone before he came home.

Gwen tipped her fifty dollars this time. Jamie was glad for it, smiled her sincere thanks for the unexpected hundred-fifty dollars that came her way that day, and then hurried to her car.

She pulled into the driveway about half an hour late. The neighbour's bike was in his driveway, and she swallowed the lump in her throat at the sight of it. His garage door was open too, but she kept her eyes adverted.

She and Calvin had avoided him the past five weeks, and he'd kept to his side of the fence since the day Jaclyn flew the coop. Just as well; Jamie still didn't believe him that he meant them no harm. Now, knowing he was home, it sent her into a tailspin of panic and she rushed into the backyard, calling Calvin's name. He didn't answer.

Jamie climbed the four steps to the patio, seeing his backpack on a deck chair. He'd been here. She checked the back door, it was locked. She circled to the front door and it was still locked, too. Shit.

Jamie was reminding herself not to think the worst. Maybe he'd gone for a walk around the block. Or a friend had come by. She unlocked the front door and checked the answering machine. If a friend had invited him over, that friend's parents would make sure she knew where he was. Right?

No messages on the machine. She held a hand over the centre of her chest; the panic was rising. She rushed the front door, purposeful steps taking her down the driveway, around the end of the fence and up to her neighbour's garage. It was open, but it was empty. A bike frame was resting in the middle of a pile of tools on the floor, but other than that it was _really _empty.

She left the garage, forced enough courage on herself to stride past the dead-plant flowerbeds up the steps to the front door, and knocked on the storm door when she couldn't find a doorbell. As she waited she wrapped her arms around her waist, torn between hoping like hell he wasn't inside and begging fate to put him there with an idea of where Calvin was.

The house was silent. But his bike was in front and the garage left wide open; he couldn't have gone far.

Jamie returned to her house, walking through again, and seeing no signs that Calvin had made it inside. The only indication he'd been home was that backpack on the patio.

She wanted to go looking. But she also wanted to be here in case he came home while she was out. Fuck, this was frustrating. And the scariest part was that she only had her frightening neighbour to turn to for help.

Arms still tight around her middle she sat on the stoop, willing her pulse to slow down. She couldn't get stressed; her body wasn't doing well with stress lately. After the drama with Jaclyn she'd needed the next two days to get her energy back.

Calvin just went for a walk, she told herself. Out of character, absolutely. But she just had to wait for him. She couldn't panic yet.

* * *

**Short one this time, but there's more to come as always. I promise! Comments and reviews always welcome.**


	8. Chapter 7

Tig watched the weird little kid from next door agonize over which soda to pick from the cooler at the corner store. Christ, you'd think he was picking a weapon to go into battle with.

"What's the problem, Charlie? Spoiled for choice or what?"

The kid pushed his glasses up his nose and looked up at him. "My name's Calvin."

"Calvin huh?"

"Yeah. But you keep calling me Charlie."

Tig couldn't help but smile. "Sorry, kid. You just look like a Charlie to me. Get the lead out and pick your drink, man."

"I don't know what I want."

"Why not?"

"I don't get to drink pop too much."

Tig raised his eyebrows. What the hell kind of upbringing was this kid having? "You ever tried root beer?"

Calvin shook his head.

"Try it. Your mind will be blown," he muttered wryly. Calvin looked at him, chewed it over, and grabbed a plastic bottle of Hires. "Good choice. Let's go."

Tig had been in his garage when the kid walked home from school, slowing down while crossing Tig's driveway, staring inside and not watching where he was going in that totally absorbed way that only kids had. Then he'd watched the little bastard walk down to the street every five minutes looking both ways and waiting a minute before going back up to his aunt's house.

Clearly she wasn't home yet and the kid was locked out. After about five of these sad little excursions Tig finally dropped his tools and asked the kid if he wanted to get a soda or something. He was going to drive Tig nuts if the aunt didn't show up soon.

He didn't know if Calvin had never had the "strangers" talk or what, but the kid just shrugged and said "Okay" so agreeably Tig was taken aback. So here they were, buying soda and walking back down the street to their houses. Tig cracked open his Coke, trying to remember the last time he'd had this shit without booze in it, swallowed a mouthful and struggled to find something to say. He was shit with kids; he had two daughters he had no idea what to do with. And this one was an odd one. So damn quiet. Weren't they supposed to be loud and as annoying as fuck?

Turns out he had no reason to worry. Couple gulps of root beer and the kid opened right up. "Are you building a motorcycle?"

Tig nodded. "I am. An old one."

"Why? You already have a motorcycle."

"I do," he replied. "But I like them. Why have one when you can have two?"

Calvin looked up at him, dead serious. "But you can only ride one at a time."

Fuck. Outwitted on logic by a kid. "You got me there, Calvin. I never thought of that."

The kid shrugged. "I guess a back-up is smart."

"Yeah, a back-up."

"Can you show me how they work?"

Now he was _really _surprised. "What?"

"Motorcycles. I already know how combustion engines work. I like how you can see all the parts on a motorcycle, too. In a car they're hidden. But you can see the guts of a motorcycle. It's cool."

"You know how engines work, hey?"

"Yeah. I learned on the internet. But if I help you I can see how it all works together. If you'll show me," the last part was added shyly because Tig had stopped walking and was staring at the kid, wondering what the hell was happening. "You don't have to," Calvin said, starting to walk again.

"Hey, hey, kid. Why you running? It's okay. You can help me. I'll show you how to put a bike together, sure." He felt ridiculous, intimidated by fifty pounds of awkward child. "If your aunt says it's okay," he added with a finger jab in the kid's shoulder.

The kid puckered his face. "She'll say no."

"That kind always says no," Tig muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing. Come on, let's keep walking. Maybe your aunt's home by now."

Calvin did as told, downing a good portion of root beer before letting go with an impressive belch. He covered his mouth and giggled, the most kid-like thing Tig had ever seen him do.

"Nice one, Charlie. _Calvin_," he drawled when the kid opened his mouth to correct him. Shit, the kid was actually making him laugh.

The aunt was home, all right. Sitting on the porch, clenched in a ball of stress and worry. She darted to her feet and descended on the kid like a dark-haired, long-limbed momma bear as soon as she saw him. "Calvin, thank God. Where have you been?"

"We went to the store," the kid said, letting himself be hugged and petted and fawned over. Clearly he was used to it.

"I was worried sick," she said, crouching in front of him. "I told you, if you get home before I do read on the patio and wait for me. Right?"

He nodded, then burped again. It made Tig laugh and the aunt grabbed the nearly-empty bottle. "I told you about soda, Calvin."

"Yes, Aunt Jamie."

"The door's open. Now go inside and I'll talk to … our neighbour."

"His name's Tig," Calvin said, scooting around her and heading for the door. "Thanks for the soda, Tig!" He called out before flying through the front door.

Blue-green eyes hit him like a shot to the gut; she was so pissed he _felt _the look. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Tig took a step back, reminding himself that getting in the face of a civilian didn't help anything. "He was waiting, pacing up and down the driveway looking for you. It was driving me nuts. We just walked down to the store. Unclench, sweetheart."

Her jaw set and her eyes flashed. "Excuse me? You don't take people's kids and walk them to the store. Plus he can't have pop because he'll be up all night!"

"He's a kid, it's not a school night. So what?"

The blood was rising in her face and she was getting plenty worked up. The abstract part of his brain found it pretty fucking hot, actually. "I am _not _taking parenting advice from _you_. But if you _must _know, if he can't sleep _I _can't sleep and I have work to do in the morning. I need him agreeable and rested when he comes with me, okay?"

Tig shrugged. "What are you telling me for then? I thought I'd keep him entertained, that's it. Who doesn't let their kid drink fucking soda? How was I supposed to know that?" Okay, Calvin sort of told him that. But whatever. "Thought I was helping. Don't worry, you won't get another favour from me again. I promise, babe. Okay?"

She turned and stomped away, and he of course noticed her ass in the workout pants she had on. Her ass looked great when the rest of her was mad.

* * *

**Happy Labour Day Weekend everyone! Comments and reviews welcome.**


	9. Chapter 8

Jamie loaded the bucket full of cleaners into her trunk, sighing. Cleaning other people's houses on a Saturday really didn't make her want to rush home and clean her own. One small house and a one-bedroom condo done and she was _wiped_.

Calvin had been perfectly well-behaved. He finished two books that day. It was a good thing she took him by the library before they started work. Jamie was a bit worried at his choices though. One was a text book from a technical college about automotive engines, another was about the history of motorcycles in America, and he even grabbed Robert Pirsig's _Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry Into Values._

She had picked up the last one at the check-out desk, turning it over. "Peanut, I don't think this is what you think it is."

He just shrugged and insisted on getting it. She wasn't entirely sure if he'd grasp the concept, but she wasn't going to stunt him. As for the other books, mechanical knowledge could be handy; what did she know? She couldn't even change an air filter in her car.

Jamie scrubbed, dusted, vacuumed, polished and buffed all day. Calvin found a quiet place out of the way to read. It worked a treat, really, thankfully. She couldn't afford daycare. If she had to pay for _that _too she'd just stay home and hope the money would last.

Calvin helped carry her stuff to the car without complaint. When they climbed in to drive home he finally spoke. "Ummm, Aunt Jamie?"

"Yeah, Peanut?"

"Would it be okay if Tig showed me how to put together his motorcycle?"

She was about to put the car in gear, but she froze first. "What?" She had to look at him to confirm she wasn't imagining it.

"I want to see how to put a motorcycle together, and he's building one."

"Why the sudden interest in motorcycles, Peanut?" Jamie hoped she sounded curious and not horrified.

"They're cool. And you can see all the parts to them. In cars and stuff it's all tucked away inside. But you can see it all on a motorcycle." He eagerly pulled open one of his books. "I know how engines work. I know what all the parts are for. I just want to see how they all go together."

She looked at his sandy-haired head, bent over the pages, flipping through to what he wanted to show her. She was so fucking torn. Her only hope was that this neighbour would be horrified at the thought of teaching an eight-year-old how motorcycles work.

"See? This is a 1954 Harley Davidson Super Glide. That's the bike that Tig's putting together. Isn't it cool, Aunt Jamie?" His eyes were wide and she had never in her life seen him excited about _anything_.

"I don't know, Peanut," she said, pushing his hair off his forehead. "I doubt Tig wants an eight-year-old hanging out with him."

Calvin shook his head. "He said I could help, but only if it was okay with you."

Ouch. Double, no, _triple -_ouch. And yet, it showed respect at the same time.

Jamie bit her lip. "You really want to fix a dirty old motorcycle?"

Calvin shook his head so emphatically it moved the car. "Yes, Aunt Jamie. I do, I really do. Can I? _Please_?"

She exhaled slowly, those big blue eyes actually lit with excitement. "I have to talk to him first, okay?"

Calvin huffed, unimpressed. "He said you were the kind that _always _said no."

She frowned. "What?"

He pushed his glasses up and faced forward. "He said people like you always said no."

She closed her eyes, shaking her head and venturing a guess as to what the biker next door had actually been implying. "I just need to set rules, Peanut. If he can't promise me he'll take care of you I don't want you over there. Okay?"

Calvin's eyes were big again as he turned them on her. "Really?"

Jamie couldn't help but smile. "I've never seen you eager to do anything before, Peanut. It kind of makes me happy."

Calvin grinned. "I just think motorcycles are cool."

"I know, they are. But they're a responsibility, too. You have to be careful when riding them. But … if you know how they work, maybe when you're old enough you'll have a lot of respect for them."

Calvin nodded. "I really want to do this this summer, Aunt Jamie."

She smiled down at him. "Don't forget, you'll also be visiting Great Aunt Thelma."

"I know. But that's only a week, or less, right? Then we're back here?"

Jamie nodded, then turned back to the steering wheel. "You bet, Peanut."

As soon as they were back at the house, pulling into the driveway, she noted that Tig's garage door was up again. Calvin noticed, too.

"See Aunt Jamie? He's working on the bike!"

"Okay, Peanut. Just calm down a bit, okay? I have to talk to him first, remember?"

"Okay. But Aunt Jamie, I really _really _want to do this." He was begging her not to mess it up. She had hoped that wouldn't kick in until he was sixteen.

"I know, Peanut. But there's gotta be rules. You get that, right?"

Calvin nodded and opened the car door. Because he never got excited she'd also never seen him disappointed before. It stung. Calvin had never asked her for anything. He didn't expect _much_, actually. He was as far from _spoiled _as most kids in this part of town.

"Unload all the stuff for me, okay? I'll go talk to …" she took a deep breath. "_Tig_."

"Thank you Aunt Jamie!" he squealed, hugging her around the waist before taking her keys to open the back door.

As she made her way up the neighbour's driveway rock 'n' roll music of a decidedly older decade greeted her, and she heard the metallic clang of a dropped tool. As the door she heard his voice cut through a Clapton guitar solo.

"… come on, you bitch. Don't be that way." She heard him snarling from where he was crouched on the far side of a hunk of metal.

"Ummm … hello?"

Another tool was dropped as he scooted to his feet as though startled. Not that it really showed on his face. He just took her in during the course of one long, meandering body scan that made her skin crawl. Honestly, those eyes were so piercing she felt like they could see right through her clothes.

"Yeah?" he asked, unaffected.

"Calvin wants to help you build a motorcycle."

With the ease of a cat he braced his hands on the frame to lean over a bit. "Yeah."

"Do you really want his help?"

He blinked once. "Why not?"

"If you just said it off-hand, tell me now. If in a week you're going to be tired of him hanging around, tell me now. Because he's the most excited I've ever seen him. He got three books about motors at the library today – well, _two _books about motors. And if you decide you don't want him around it's going to absolutely crush him. So if you can't see yourself hanging out with that boy this summer you have to let me know right now. Before he's any more invested in this idea than he already is."

He cranked his lower jaw hard to one side. "I said he could help. He's quiet. He's not a punk."

She took a step closer. "Like I said, if you brush him off it will kill him. You've got to be serious about this because Calvin takes _everything _seriously."

He nodded. "I get you, Aunt Jamie. Sometimes I might have to leave town for a few days without warning, but if I'm not working or on the road I'm putting this bitch together. If he's here to help, great."

She felt her back get straighter. "Good. But I have a few rules."

He rubbed his forehead roughly. "Of course you do."

Jamie ignored that. "I know it's hard not to curse. But let's not get too creative or specific, okay? Can you try and stick to the basics?"

He raised an eyebrow. "The basics?"

"He's heard the usual words before, knows not to use them. I'm more worried about the words he might not know yet that … _men_ like to use for slang."

One side of Tig's mouth curled in a smile. "Man slang, hey?"

"Yeah. Second, I don't want him in your house. For any reason. It's nothing personal, I just don't know what's in there. Backyard and garage are fine, but … no going in the house."

He sniffed, still half-smiling. "Okay."

"And just remember that he's eight. Well, soon he'll be nine, but he's impressionable. He thinks motorcycles are cool, he probably thinks you and your friends are cool, just … take it seriously when you talk to him, okay? He's social circle is small, which means now you're a big part of it."

The smile was gone by the time she finished. He was nodding, studying the floor. Then he looked up at her. "I've been around kids a few times before. It's not magic to me, sweetheart. Tell him he can come over whenever he wants, as long as it's okay with you."

She nodded, turned to leave, then faced him again. "Calvin said you told him he could only help if he had my permission."

He nodded.

"Thank you for that, by the way." Then she was off down the driveway again, not feeling too much better about the situation but at least confident that her scary neighbour maybe actually liked Calvin. Even just a little bit.

* * *

**Comments and reviews are my cocaine; I love them and always crave more. Feel free to share your thoughts. :)**


	10. Chapter 09

"Sorry this part is so boring, Charlie," Tig muttered, the last bolt finally easing up on the bitch act and letting go. "But we've got to get all this shit off the bike before the frame can be sandblasted."

"I know," Calvin said agreeably, perched on a milk crate with a paperback in his hand. Jesus, this kid was ridiculously easy-going. Made him wonder if his own daughters weren't seriously messed up with how they used to drive him nuts at this age.

"What you reading?"

"I thought it was about motorcycle maintenance. But it's not."

"What is it?"

"_Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," _came the casual reply.

"What?"

"_Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance_. It's written by," he flipped the cover over, "Robert Persig."

"Not sure how zen factors into motorcycles, kid."

"It's more of a manifesto, I think."

"A what?"

But the kid was reading to him now, and Tig stopped, hands on hips to listen. "_The place to improve the world is first in one's own heart and head and hands, and then work outward from there._"Calvin looked up at him, sliding glasses back up his nose. "You're a mechanic, you work with your hands?"

Tig was still trying to figure out what kind of fucking eight-year-old tossed around a word like manifesto. "Yeah, kid. I'm a mechanic."

Calvin nodded as though this pleased him, then went back to reading.

Tig felt his eyebrows rise, then he shook his head. "So, what else do you do for fun, kid? You play any sports or anything?"

"No," Calvin didn't seem sad about this. "I always get picked last in school. And that stuff is really expensive. I don't want to worry Aunt Jamie."

Tig couldn't help himself, and the kid started it, so … "What's your Aunt Jamie do?"

"She's cleaning houses so she can get the bathroom fixed."

Just like a kid to explain everything without really saying _anything_.

"She seems kinda … _smart _to be cleaning houses. What's up with that?"

"She's sick."

Tig waited for more detail, but nothing was being added. The kid was immersed in that book. "Sick how? Like, a flu?"

"Cancer."

Tig felt the ground actually _move _under his feet. "She's got cancer?"

"Yeah. They fired her from her job because she was going to have to leave anyway, to be sick. But she has to have the mould removed from the bathroom."

"No she doesn't," Tig quipped. "It's not her house. Her landlord has to deal with that shit."

Calvin shook his head, looking up again and sniffing. "He said she had to pay the people. He was buying the supplies."

Tig felt his vision go red for just a second. He knew that landlord was a piece of shit slumlord. And he was making this broad pay labour on _his _fucking property.

"That ain't right," he muttered, turning back to the frame, frowning.

"She's not going to make enough before she has to go to the hospital for an operation," Calvin shared. "She thinks it'll be about five grand. She's only saved enough for us to live on while she gets better. So she has to have more than she does. But it won't be enough."

"Fuck," he muttered, wrench banging against a support for no reason other than the fact he was pissed. He looked back at the kid, perched on that crate with his scrawny legs crossed, chewing his lip as he read. Shit, he didn't care, Tig told himself. _You don't care, there's no reason to give a shit_. And it was a lie. "When's her surgery?"

"Next week. I have to go stay with _Aunt Thelma_." His tone told Tig exactly what he thought of this particular family member.

"What's wrong with Aunt Thelma?"

"She's weird. And loud."

Tig laughed. "Charlie, you're sitting in the company of weird and loud right now."

"It's loud at her farm," Calvin complained, returning to his book. "She has seven roosters."

Tig snorted at that. "That _would _be annoying. But you know Aunt Jamie just wants you somewhere safe so she can get better."

"I know," the kid was resigned to the fact. "I never said anything to Aunt Jamie. I don't want her to worry about me. Stress is not good for recovery from surgery."

Tig studied the kid again, chewing his own lip now, too. Shit, this kid was smart and kind of funny and life was likely really going to suck for him. That was too bad.

"Listen, kid," he said, not sure how to word this or _why _he felt the need to even say it. "I know it likely scared you when you saw me giving your mom shit. And I'm sorry about that."

Calvin studied him thoughtfully before answering. "She stole from you. She does that. I thought you might hurt her, which made me mad. But I also hoped it might scare her enough to stop being how she is."

Tig had never felt so young and yet old at the same time. The kid was some kind of walking sage. "Read me another one," Tig asked, turning back to his project.

Calvin cleared his throat. "_In a car you're always in a compartment, and because you're used to it you don't realize that through that car window everything you see is just more TV. You're a passive observer and it is all moving by you boringly in a frame. On a cycle the frame is gone. You're completely in contact with it all. You're __in__ the scene, not just watching it anymore, and the sense of presence is overwhelming."_ Curious eyes came back to him again, and Tig was struck not only by the words but also by the kids' earnest expression. Fuck, had he _ever _been this innocent?

"What's up, kid?" he asked, not sure what this face meant.

"Safety is an illusion," the kid said. "You think you're safer in a car compared to a motorcycle. But the truth is you're blinding yourself to what's really out there. So when you feel safe, you're actually just … numb. Placated. Like a farm animal. On a bike you're actually _there_, not just watching from a safe distance."

Tig blinked a few times. "Calvin, you're freaking me out, dude."

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome. Thanks!**


	11. Chapter 10

Jamie was fighting to keep herself calm as she drove home. Her heart was racing, her cheekbone stung from being punched, and her lip was bleeding from the slap. Mostly, she was so shocked and upset she felt like she might hyperventilate.

Gwen Davidson's house guests were gone, so she'd called for the post-reunion clean up today. Glad to have the work and the tip Jamie had raced right over, even though it would mean she was late getting home. The fact that her nephew could stay at Tig Trager's when she was late getting home was a relief. And the fact that it _was _a relief made her uneasy.

Gwen Davidson wasn't there. Her husband Clark let Jamie in, his leering eyes and smarmy comments making her squeamish. But she set to cleaning the guests' quarters, kitchen and living area right away.

Clark Davidson followed her. Clark Davidson asked her if she did yoga since her yoga pants fit her so well. Clark Davidson tried to grab her ass and Jamie shoved him off, telling him it was inappropriate in her most diplomatic tone while choking on the urge to call him a dick and run away.

He'd grabbed her by the upper arms, and she struggled, ripping one of the straps of her tank top. She told him firmly to let her go, fighting free of his hands. This earned her the slap.

She'd been shocked. Her hand covered the sting he'd left her with, and he mistook her pause for some kind of _permission_. He grabbed her again, she scratched at him and pulled away. Then he'd punched her.

Closed fist. To the cheekbone. It brought stars to her eyes, and she fell to the ground as the front door of the house opened. She left her supplies, only grabbed her bag, and ran to her car past the very startled and concerned Gwen Davidson.

Now, through a haze of appalled shock, she found herself at home, not sure how she made it there and hoping she hadn't caused any accidents on the drive. She parked in the front of her driveway, staring up at the house, realizing she'd left her shit behind, and lamenting that it would cost about two hundred dollars to replace all of it.

Jamie let her forehead hit the steering wheel as she tried to steady her nerves. She didn't want Calvin to see her like this. Her hands were even shaking.

There was a knock on her window. She raised her head, not sure what she was expecting, but it wasn't Tig Trager. Startled, she wiped her eyes, pulling her keys from the ignition and unbuckling her seatbelt. He pulled her door open, and she shied away from him, heart starting to race again.

"What the fuck happened to your face?" His tone was cold and angry.

She cringing, holding up a hand. "Please step back and give me some room to get out of my car."

He did, pulling the door the rest of the way open. She moved to keep her right cheek away from him, but the split lip was leaking down her chin and denying it was there wasn't an option.

"Jamie," he demanded again. "The fuck happened to your face?"

She closed her eyes, feeing that now familiar exhaustion rising. She just wanted a bath, but ... _fuck_. That bathroom was all fucked up and she was scared to use it. The last thing she and Calvin needed was toxic mould.

"Jamie? You're bleeding, sweetheart. Who did this?" He also grabbed the ripped strap on her shirt.

She avoided his gaze, not sure how to answer nor why the hell he should care.

"Aunt Jamie? Are you okay?"

She turned her head to the back side of the car, realizing Calvin was there, watching. That's when Tig hissed, bringing her attention back to him, knowing he saw her cheek.

He grabbed her chin, surprisingly gentle, turning her head back the way it had been. "Jesus Christ, who did this?"

She pulled free of his grasp. "A client. And it doesn't matter because I'm sure I'm fired now."

"Give me his name," he snapped.

"No," Jamie answered emphatically, slamming her car door closed, finding her backbone again. "Back to your side of the fence, Mister Trager."

"Aunt Jamie -"

She held her hand out to Calvin, shushing him with the motion but feeling bad because he was only scared. For her. "It's fine, Calvin. You have nothing to worry about." Her eyes went back up to Tig's, those icy blues sending a chill through her. "Go home," she asked. "This has nothing to do with you." He set his lower jaw to the side, an angry expression that made her re-examine her voice when she spoke again. "Please, I don't want trouble. I'm not going back."

"Then tell the cops," he said, following her to her front door.

"Come on, Calvin. Inside." She held her hand out to her nephew, shaking it. "Right now."

Tig followed her. "Call the cops, Jamie. That shit ain't right."

Jamie pushed the door open, ushering Calvin inside, shutting the screen door and whirling on the scary man standing on the bottom step of her stoop. "Listen to me," she hissed. "This is none of your business, okay? I'm not going back. She paid me for this visit, I'll happily take the one hundred dollar tip, and I won't go back because her husband's an asshole. But _that's_ how I'm handling it, it's my call, and you have no say. You're my _neighbour. _You're nice enough to let my nephew hang out when I'm running late, and I appreciate it. But this is _mine_, not yours."

"Men don't hit women," he snarled.

"I remember you handling my sister with such _tender _care right in front of my house," she snapped back. "Do not hand me that kind of hypocrisy."

"I never hit her. I gave her shit, I manhandled her, but I never did that," he returned with a gesture to her face. "I never tried to pull her clothes off, either. Was _that _what this was about? He wanted in your pants?"

"Just stay out of it," she whispered desperately, cut off when he pulled her purse off her shoulder. "Hey!"

Tig avoided her hands easily, turning away and going through her stuff.

"Stop that," she hissed, following him down the steps. It was futile; he was big and scary. Her fight was sad, really.

"Clark and Gwendolyn Davidson. Fucking Charming _Heights_, yet." He turned, holding up the cheque. "This is them, right?"

Jamie clasped her hands, pleading. "Give me back my stuff."

He shook his head. "Nah. I don't think so."

"Tig -" she was cut off as her purse was shoved back into her stomach.

"Don't worry, babe," he muttered, tucking the cheque into his pocket. "I'll make sure you get what you're owed. I promise."

The look in his eyes made her blood stop in her veins, her heart freezing mid-beat. Abstractly she was glad he wasn't pissed off at _her_, and at the same time she didn't want anyone else getting hurt.

"Ice, on your cheek. Do it. That bitch is gonna swell up," was the last thing he said over his shoulder as she stalked down her driveway and then back up on his own, on a mission.

She didn't wait to watch. She hustled back inside, cringing when his bike began to rumble. She peeked out the side window, only catching a glimpse of Tig Trager flying off down their street.

"Are you okay Aunt Jamie?"

She looked down on Calvin, who was staring up at her with obvious and grave concern. She dropped to her knees, wincing as his eyes noticed her ripped shirt, split lip and cheek. "Sweetie, I'm fine," she assured him. "I'm sorry if all that scared you."

"You're bleeding though," he insisted, close to tears.

She pulled him into her chest, cheek on top of his head. "Baby, I'm fine. I promise. There was a bad man, I got away from him, and he's never coming here."

"Is Tig gonna hurt him?"

Jamie wanted to strangle that bastard right then. "I don't know," she admitted, knowing it was no use lying to him. "I don't know."

His response all but cut her. "I hope he does."

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome!**


	12. Chapter 11

The wind whipping across his face did nothing to cool Tig's anger as his Dyna roared through the neighbourhood he still didn't entirely think of as home. All he could see was that split lip he wanted to taste. That bruised cheek he would have loved to have touched. He couldn't do any of that, but he _could _make the asshole hurt that put his hands on her.

The wartime rentals and shanties he could relate to eventually gave way to newer stucco houses, condos and housing developments. The address that matched the fucker's check was a huge, white, two-level monstrosity. He pulled the bike to a stop at the curb, popped his lid off and studied the area. Other than his bike, the noisiest things on the street were all the lawn mowers being operated by Mexican illegals hired cheap by landscaping companies.

Still astride his Harley he pulled out his lighter and a cigarette, lit it and cast a look of disdain at the house he'd been after. There was an Audi SUV and a squat little BMW sports car in the driveway. If he'd been the melodramatic sort, he'd say the place made him want to throw up.

It was hot. Fuck, it was hot. But he had a fleece on over his kutte. This wasn't club business, this was personal. So the colours had to stay hidden.

Couple drags down on the smoke, he swung his leg off the bike and slid off his shades, hooking them on his shirt front as he took a walk up to the big-ass porch. He put the heavy brass knocker stuck to the glossy black door to good use, shrugging his shoulders to arrange his hoodie. Best to look presentable.

The door was swung open by a stooge in Dockers and an orange polo shirt. He had ass clown written all over him, and that was _before _he gave Tig an appraisal that suggested he thought Tig smelled pretty bad.

"Can I help you?" Still had a few fucking manners, apparently.

"Clark Davidson." It wasn't meant to sound like a question, so it didn't.

"Yes?"

"Can I talk to you a second?" he asked for no good reason. He was already pushing the guy into his own house, hand right in the middle of his chest, slamming the door behind him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Tig didn't answer, casting his eyes around the ultra-white and bright, two-storey entry way with a huge staircase curling up the left side. He gave a low whistle, his boot heels echoing on the stone floor. Might have been marble. What the fuck did he know from flooring?

"What do you want?"

Tig answered with his own question. "You know Jamie Taylor?"

The first response were a few quick blinks. Then he found his mouth again. "Yeah."

"You put your hands on her?"

The prick's eyes darted to a big arched doorway to his right, and Tig didn't need a PhD to figure out that the guy's wife was home. "What?" Ass Clown asked, voice noticeably lower.

"You hit her?" Tig took no such precaution with his volume.

The guy fish-mouthed, then finally found _more _words. "Look, I don't want any trouble, it just got a little out of hand -"

"Stop talking," Tig advised.

"Look, whatever you want. I don't want any trouble. I'm sure we can reach an agreement."

Tig raised his eyebrows as a new thought came to him. "Five grand."

Clark was surprised. "What?"

"Five thousand dollars. Or she tells your wife."

"I can't just give away five grand, my wife would notice that."

"Hell, maybe your wife would like a ride on my bike. She'd be glad to be shot of your weak ass I bet." More blinking, still not the answer Tig wanted. "Ten then," Tig suggested as though he was being agreeable.

Clark blinked exactly five times. "I don't have that kind of money just sitting around!"

"What do you do?"

"I-I'm an investment broker."

"And your wife?"

"She doesn't work."

"You got kids?"

"No."

Tig titled his head. "No kids. No job. She has to suck _your _dick? _That's _her job? She _hires _people to clean this fucking house?"

"Please keep your voice down."

"Listen, you shit heel peckerwood. Jamie needs the money. I don't care what you say, you're in a position to give it to her. So you will, and your wife won't find out. Got it?"

"I need time to put together that much cash."

"Get on it quick then, asshole. And you'll need to find another maid, because she ain't coming back here."

The guy was nodding, ridiculously agreeable. "Okay, okay. I'll get it. But how do I get it to you?"

"Don't give it to me, give it to her."

"What?"

"I know, that sounds bad. Look, just give it to _her_. And don't take your time, either."

The guy was resigned but pissed off. "All right."

"Oh, and one more thing."

"What's that?"

Tig's right hook broke Clark Davidson's nose. His right jab caught his cheekbone, the rings giving it a little extra sting. The next right he made sure caught the guy's lip as he was about to fall, and he felt the silver on his fingers hit the guy's teeth.

What a fucking great sound.

Clark Davidson hit the floor on his back, legs and arms pin-wheeling but failing to catch his weight very well. The blood hit his shirt instantly. Tig saw his eyes well up from the nose shot, and he covered his face with one hand while trying to get back up from a three-point stance, spitting blood out on the floor.

A floor Jamie likely just finished cleaning.

"Come on man, you wanted a fist fight. I'll let you get in a shot here and there. Have at 'er." Tig pointed at his own chin.

Clark stared up at him like he was insane. "I don't want a fist fight," he snarled, angry now.

"You hit someone, you want a fight, asshole. If it's not the person you're hitting, it's someone on their behalf. If you don't want a fight, don't fucking hit people. Especially the ones way out of your league."

He let Clark stand up, but the bastard was laughing. "The _maid_? Jamie? Out of _my _league?"

The nose was gushing good. The lip was going to hurt a lot. He was going to have at least one black eye. Fuck it, they might as well match. Another good shot rocked him to the side but he didn't go down, just grunted. _Explain that all to the wife_.

"So far out of your league you don't get to say her name," he said very low and cold, calm. That was his scary voice and he knew it was effective one hundred percent of the time.

Clark Davidson finally got wise and buttoned his lip.

"Ten grand. You don't have to see me again."

There was an angry stare-down, then a woman's voice cut through all the heavy breathing in the entry. "Is Jamie okay?"

Tig's head came up to take in the tanned, yoga-toned blonde leaning against the entry, arms crossed, not even looking at her husband. Yeah, she heard all of it.

"She will be," he assured her, sensing the woman liked Jamie. That bode well for her.

She nodded, then Tig turned for the door, shouting out "142 Parkdale Road," as he left, making sure that door slammed behind him.

As he pulled back into his drive the neighbour was on her stoop, curled up with her arms wrapped around her knees, the kid nowhere to be seen. As he swung off the bike she got to her feet and strode towards him, keeping the fence at arms' length between them.

"What did you do?" she nearly whispered. She still hadn't even changed her shirt; that ripped strap was fucking gutting him. At least the lip had stopped bleeding.

"Don't worry about it. He'll think twice before touching anyone ever again."

"I didn't ask you to do anything. Did you hit him?"

Tig set his jaw, looking down at his helmet in his hands. That was when he noticed his knuckles were a bit scuffed up. He hadn't even felt it. "Yeah. I fucking hit him. And I'd do it again."

When he looked up at those blue-green eyes he couldn't tell what she was thinking about him. Then she really shocked his shit before heading back into her house.

"Thank you," she said softly as she turned away.

* * *

**I hope that satisfied all these rabid Tig fans! **

**I hadn't expected that response to that last chapter, so THANK YOU! Y'all are amazing. **

**Comments and reviews always welcome.**


	13. Chapter 12

**July**

Jamie stored the Rocky Road ice cream at the back of the freezer and carried the birthday cake down into the basement. She meant to hide it in the small fridge that was only holding a few bottles of beer at the moment. Luckily Calvin was scared of the basement so she knew he wouldn't find the cake she picked up as a surprise for his birthday the following day.

It was going to be way too much cake. None of the classmates invited to his birthday party were coming.

Talk about a whammy of mortification. Sure, it was summer break and usually the parents who could take their kids somewhere for R&R planned to leave as soon as the report cards were handed out. By now _most_ of those families were out of town.

But not all of them, and that really pissed Jamie off. Then, with even deeper sadness, she remembered that Calvin never brought home a single birthday party invitation. She didn't know if he wasn't invited or if he didn't bring it home just because he didn't want to go.

Still. Turning nine with Aunt Jamie and Aunt Thelma as the only guests at your party was pretty sad.

At least she'd managed to find a motorcycle cake. She was sure he was going to love it.

She climbed the stairs to the kitchen again, noticing how out of breath she was from the effort. Jamie took a moment to sit a spell, knowing this exhaustion was another symptom. Two more days until surgery. Luckily she had this birthday supper to distract her from the approaching event that had her scared stupid.

Calvin was reading outside again. Their frightening neighbour was gone so he was bored, had been for a few days now. Jamie felt relief every day that passed without that bike returning to the driveway but Calvin was clearly missing him.

Her cheekbone _had _swelled. It was still yellowed from the burst blood vessels. But her lip was healed now. And she was still pissed off about what happened.

Not at Tig attacking Clark Davidson. She was pissed that she hadn't been able to do it herself.

When she'd confronted him on the driveway she's noticed his hands. He wore a lot of rings, and they would certainly hurt. But his knuckles had also been cut and bleeding, and she hoped it was because Clark Davidson had lost a few teeth.

As much as the thought pleased her, it still made her nervous that Tig had gone off on the guy like a guard dog. She didn't know what that meant. She didn't know the guy. Defending _Calvin _would have made sense. They were becoming bestest buddies, after all. But _her_? She couldn't get rid of the fear she'd _owe _him one somewhere down the line. And owing Tig Trager something made her uneasy.

Jamie had only seen him twice since that day. The first time was the day after that _incident_. Calvin had been "helping" Tig that afternoon, and he had knocked on her screen door, didn't try to enter the house, just asked through the open screen if it would be "cool if Calvin had a root beer."

The second time was when he left on whatever excursion he was currently on. She was helping Calvin carry his library books to the car the day after school finished to turn them in for new ones, and Tig was packing the bags on his bike.

The strangest thing happened. She watched Calvin interact with a _friend_.

"Where you headed buddy?" came Tig's call.

Calvin smiled, bounding to the fence. "To the library."

"Yeah? They got Playboy there?"

Jamie cringed. Calvin tilted his head. "What's that?"

"Jesus Christ, Charlie. Sure you're a boy?"

"Yeah."

Tig had laughed at that, standing next to his bike, hands on his hips. "Read me another one, buddy."

Calvin flipped open the paperback on top of his pile of library books and read aloud from a page. "_The test of the machine is the satisfaction it gives you. There isn't any other test. If the machine produces tranquility it's right. If it disturbs you it's wrong until either the machine or your mind is changed._"

Jamie had been watching Trager's face while Calvin read to him. He got very still, his smile faded a little bit, and Jamie would swear on a stack of bibles that he was not only listening but absorbing. Then he held out a fist. "Right on, little man."

Calvin bumped fists with him. "Where are you going?"

"Business trip. Gone a few days."

"Bring me back a birthday present?"

"Calvin -" Jamie was about to intervene but Tig was answering.

"Oh shit, you got a birthday coming up?" His tone indicated he was pretending to have forgotten.

Calvin tilted his head. "I only told you a hundred times."

"Sorry man, I'm getting old. My memory's pretty bad."

"_Tig -_" Calvin's exasperation actually cracked him up and Trager mussed Calvin's hair over the fence.

"I'm on it, Calvin. Don't worry."

"Be careful, Tig."

"I will, little man," Tig promised with a dying chuckle. "Thanks." Then his head came up and she assumed Tig was looking at her, it was hard to tell behind the sunglasses. "See you later, Aunt Jamie."

She gave an uncomfortable wave. "Bye."

Jamie wasn't sure what the hell was in her head, but seeing Calvin interacting with an _arguably _adult male was … nice. Jamie completely forgot that he'd manhandled her sister and scared the crap out of her on more than one occasion. It didn't bother her that he swore a lot and was most likely involved in criminal activity. Or that his reaction to someone hurting her was to go back and hurt them worse. None of it mattered because … he was _nice _to Calvin.

And she really _liked _that.

Shaking herself back to the present, Jamie finished putting away the rest of the birthday groceries, hoping Calvin appreciated hot dogs and tater tots for many more years. He was such a cheap kid to please.

She was so proud of the present she and Aunt Thelma had both put in to get him, too. In light of his sudden love of motorcycles, Jamie had found a motorized bicycle built for kids. He could still ride it like a regular bike but it also had a small motor, a "junior bike" if you would. There was no way she could afford a dirt bike, _nor _would she want him riding one. This was a happy compromise, and with Thelma's help it was safely hidden out at the farm for the time being.

He was going to love it, she just knew it. She couldn't wait to see his face.

That night as she was preparing chicken and potatoes for supper Calvin was watching TV, quietly entertaining himself as was his way. At the sound of a motorcycle pulling into the drive one house over he leapt to his feet and was out the front door before she could say, "Calvin – supper's almost ready!"

She shook her head, straining the potatoes, head back to avoid the steam, transferred them to a bowl, then plopped a dollop of butter on top. As she was turning to set them on the table she jumped.

She hadn't heard Calvin come back inside, pulling Tig by his hand. For his part, Tig looked reluctant to follow, but he did anyway. It wouldn't be hard for him to get out of Calvin's grip.

"Aunt Jamie?"

"Yes, Calvin?" She tried to sound comfortable with the man in her house, giving Tig what she hoped was a friendly smile.

"Is it okay if Tig comes over for my birthday supper?"

Jamie started, and Tig's head cranked down quick to look at the kid holding his hand. "Wait, Calvin, buddy -"

"You said I could invite friends from school," Calvin reminded her, cutting Tig off. "I don't _have _any friends from school. Tig's my only friend."

Holy shit. Jamie and Tig exchanged a very grown-up _what the hell do we do about this _look, and she was honestly at a loss.

Maybe he wouldn't want to come to a nine-year-old's birthday. If he didn't, that would totally _gut _Calvin. And she _did _feel sorry for the kid that two old ladies were the only people attending.

Tig read her mind, and at that moment again she felt a warm _whoosh _of affection for the guy who was bringing out an awful lot of these _whooshes _strictly through how incredibly _awesome _he was with her nephew.

"I'd love to come your birthday supper, Charlie. If Aunt Jamie's okay with it."

There was, of course, only one answer for that. "Sure. Tig, you're welcome to join us."

He nodded once, then dropped those eyes back down on Calvin. "There you go, buddy. I wish you'd told me it was your birthday, though. I barely have any time to get you anything," he was scolding, heading for the door with Calvin following.

"I _did _tell you," Calvin was insisting, and was almost out the door before Jamie called him back.

"Calvin," she said, laughing. "Supper. You can go get dirty later."

"Oh yeah." Calvin ran back to the table, and Tig cast a smile across the room at her.

"You're welcome to stay tonight, too. For supper … if you want," she said lamely, knowing it was rude to stand there with a table covered in food and let someone just leave.

"Nah, thanks Aunt Jamie. I'm still technically on the clock here. But thanks. I'll see 'ya tomorrow."

He left then, and the kitchen got bigger and brighter. She exhaled, then caught Calvin staring up at her. "What?" she asked, taking her seat.

"You look weird."

"Calvin, that's not very nice."

"Not in a bad way. Your smile looked different." She didn't even know she'd _been _smiling. "Are you warm?"

"Why?"

"Do you feel sick?"

"Calvin, what's with the twenty questions?"

He shrugged and picked up his fork. "Your cheeks are all pink."

She put a hand to the side of her face _not _healing from being punched. It _did _feel warm. Actually, she _was _warm, and she hadn't been until Calvin dragged Tig into her house. Or maybe this was another symptom. It _could_ be.

Yeah, definitely a symptom.

* * *

**Reviews and comments welcome.**


	14. Chapter 13

"Where are you, Tigger?" the blonde asked breathlessly, tossing waves of curls over her shoulder and staring down at him with a flushed face and heaving chest.

He had a bottled blonde with huge fake tits riding him, and he was completely, absolutely distracted by other things that were nowhere near his dorm room at the clubhouse. Things that looked fantastic in cut-off shorts and an old 49ers T-shirt, her hair pulled to a ponytail at the side of her neck. Things that smelled great and still cooked fucking chicken with potatoes for supper.

That house had smelled like her. He hadn't been expecting that, but it was all over the place. And it smelled good.

Tig shot a look up at the blonde. "I'm right here, baby. Who told you to take a break?"

She smiled, rolling her hips again. He was pretty sure she'd really come just then. If not, it was a hell of a fake. Well, good for her. But it wouldn't be a win unless she got him there, too.

Tig tried to keep his head _out _of his head, eyes trolling up her tanned skin, over her breasts which were close to the best money could buy, her tight stomach, and her long-nailed fingers playing with her own nipples, throwing her head around and arching so far she looked about ready to break her own back.

He closed his eyes. Her show wasn't doing much for him. But closing his eyes just meant he was seeing Jamie the fucking neighbour again in her shorts and bare feet, one tanned leg bent towards to the one holding her weight like she was nervous to have him in her house. He couldn't blame her for that. But then she'd smiled at him and … damn. It was all he could do to get his ass on his bike and head to the clubhouse immediately.

Which, of course, brought him here.

"Fuck, Tigger. You feel so good."

He grit his teeth, sat up, wrapped an arm around her lower back and tossed her to the side onto the mattress. He flipped her over by the hips, pulled her up onto all fours and sunk deep into her roughly on one thrust. She gasped. He did it again and she whimpered. He did it again and something changed.

"Fuck, Tig. That hurts."

He did it again.

"Tig, ease up. That hurts."

That was all it took. He planted deep, came hard, mousey neighbour Jamie nowhere in his mind, all because suddenly this girl wasn't into putting on a show for him.

"Christ Tig," she was muttered as he pulled out, flopping next to her on his bed with his arm over his eyes. "You're not really packing a small calibre weapon there. You gotta ease up."

"Shut the fuck up and leave," he answered with indifference, ignoring the berating comments she dished out as she pulled on her miniscule outfit. It was all noise.

Once she was gone, he wished she'd taken the stink of her perfume with her. The smell of the neighbour's house was completely gone from his head now, and that was too bad, even if he _had _come here to get rid of it.

Fuck … that _sweet_. It wasn't just tingling his jaw anymore. It was sparking on his skin and messing with his fucking head.

He liked that kid. A lot. Being away for a few days with the guys made him realize what a tragedy the loss of innocence could be. One day he's listening to a kid give his take on motorcycle philosophy, and the next day he's doubling up on a whore with Happy during a quick pit stop at a roadhouse on the side of some nondescript highway.

It wasn't that he was getting too old for this shit. It was that he was getting old enough to see how stupid it could all be.

He scrubbed his hands across his face then got to his feet. He yanked the condom off, tossed it, washed his hands in the bathroom, then dressed again. No more pussy tonight, but maybe enough tequila to knock him right the fuck out.

It wasn't hard to be a hero to a nine-year-old living in that neighbourhood. But that didn't mean Tig wasn't scared shitless at what that kid had said while clutching his hand in that kitchen.

_I don't have any friends from school. Tig's my only friend._

_Sure. Tig, you're welcome to join us._

At her words he'd been a fucking teenager again. It was all he could do to fight down a grin and leave. The invite for supper that very night? Nearly killed him to say no.

Out in the clubhouse he scanned the room, headed for the bar, and demanded tequila. The prospect put the bottle and a shot glass on the beaten and shined up wood. Tig ignored the glass, tossed the cap at the prospect and carried the bottle with him over to the sofa where Gemma held court, legs and arms crossed, watching the evening's proceedings and debauchery.

Tig plopped next to her, sprawling out to lean into her shoulder, legs out straight in front of him, ankles crossed over each other. He took a deep pull on the tequila, relishing that harsh burn. That knocked the _sweet_ right out of him.

"I give Tigger," Gemma said wryly.

"What?"

"What's up with you?"

He made a face. "What are you talking about?'

She smiled slowly but didn't push. "Still got your wallet, babe?"

He had to laugh, a short bark that he honestly meant. "Very funny."

"Hap tells me you punched a guy out last week."

He made another face as the second swig of tequila went down. "That's all he has time for or what? Gossiping with the women?" Hap had seen his hands the next day, knew he'd clocked someone good and it wasn't club business. Fucking mouth on that guy -

"What was that for?"

He shook his head. "Not important, Gem."

"We didn't tell Clay," Gemma assured him. "So you're going to tell _me _what that was about and I'll have your back, baby."

Tig sighed, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. "It _really _didn't matter, honey."

"Tell me or I tell Clay about your non-commissioned fisticuffs."

Gemma was only nice for so long before resorting to blackmail. "My neighbour cleaned the guy's house. He got handsy. She said no, he hit her. At least twice. Her cheek was bruised, her lip was split."

Gemma put her arm behind him on the sofa, angling towards him and running her hand through his hair just like a mother would. "Is this neighbour the one Hap said is so hot?"

"For fuck's sake."

"Easy, Tigger. I'm just looking out for you. I watch out for my boys, you know that."

"I know," he admitted, leaning into her more, letting his eyes close.

"She's a civvie, right?"

"Yeah. A _lot_."

Gemma chuckled, the movement of shaking her head rocking him a bit. "You never do anything the easy way, do you?"

Tig grinned up at her over his shoulder. "I'm not doing anything, Gem. Don't worry."

"You're beating up strangers for her," Gemma pointed out.

"She's got a nephew she takes care of. He's decided I'm … _cool_, I don't know. He wants to hang out with me. Help me with my bike." He shrugged. "That's it."

"How old's this little prospect?"

"Eight. Smart kid, Gem. He's already five times smarter than _me_. But I'm able to teach him things. And that kinda … makes me proud. That I know something this eight-year-old doesn't. _Bikes_."

She kept playing with his hair and he let his eyes close again, taking another oversized shot of tequila. "So, you like the kid or you like _her_?" Gemma asked gently.

He shrugged. "I don't know. I like the kid, that's it. But I wanted to hit that fucker that hurt her. I didn't expect that."

"Just be careful, baby. A bitch that takes your wallet's one thing. A bitch that takes your heart is much more trouble."

"I know," he said, patting her leg. "You remember how it was with Colleen, right?"

Gemma gave a short burst of laughter. "How could I forget?"

"I made her miserable, Gem."

"I'd say it was an equal effort on both sides. You did a good job making _each other_ miserable."

He stewed on that, but not for too long. He craned his neck back to look at her again. "Why didn't I just marry you, huh?"

Gemma smiled and squeezed his face with one hand. "Baby, you couldn't handle this."

He grinned back. "You're right."

"Go get some sleep, Tigger. And before you decide anything with that hottie neighbour, I want to meet her."

"Gem -"

"I mean it. You're not as tough as you think, babe. Trust me. If she's going to cause you pain I'm not letting that happen."

"You take such good care of me."

"Of course I do. I take care of all my boys." She concluded their chat by kissing his temple then pushing him upright again. "My old man's giving you the eye, Tigger. I better go over there and calm him down."

"Be good, Gemma."

"He hasn't complained yet ," she replied immediately, eyes on Clay as she stood on her spiked-heel boots and worked that tight denim-clad ass across the floor. As soon as she was in grabbing distance SAMCRO's president had her in his arms, laying a possessive kiss on her that everyone in the room could read loud and clear.

Tig was smiling. He loved the shit out of Gemma. She was a mother to the group and a kick-ass one at that. And the true love she had for Clay was something to be admired.

Envied.

He cringed, taking another deep pull on the bottle. He _didn't _want an old lady. Been there, tried it, got the fucking scars to prove it. No thank you. Put a crow on a piece of ass and she owned you. He was not interested in that.

Not to say he wasn't interested in taking a taste of Aunt Jamie. She was attractive, not what he was used to. Exotic, really. Not around solely for sexual service to the Sons.

That was scary, now that he thought of it. Shit. He might have to actually _try _with her.

Clay still had his old lady in his arms. They had their foreheads resting against each other, Clay was talking and Gemma was grinning at him, her hands slowly circling his shoulders. Damn. A woman _that _into her man … it must be really nice.

* * *

**Comments and reviews always welcome!**


	15. Chapter 14

The morning of his birthday Calvin woke Jamie up by jumping on her bed. "Auntie Jamie! It's my birthday!"

His excitement made her grin. Calvin _never_ got this animated. He was acting like a kid, and she loved it.

"I know, Peanut," she groaned, sitting up and grabbing him around the ribs, tickling him. "What does the nine-year-old want for breakfast?"

"Bacon."

"And?"

"Eggs."

"And?"

"Toast."

"And?"

"_Please_?" he concluded, giggling as she tickled him. He could have gotten away, he just didn't want to.

"Okay. Go watch TV, I'll be right out."

"Okay!" he bounded out of her room, and she took a moment to catch her breath. She felt really tired this morning. But a fancy breakfast was absolutely imperative, especially for a birthday.

It was ten o'clock, which meant he waited to wake her up. He had likely been reading in bed since about six am. It gave her a little pang to realize he was worried about her. He was so courteous.

Calvin even tried to help with breakfast dishes, but she reminded him that birthday boys didn't do dishes. So he happily parked in front of the TV to watch MythBusters while she cleaned up.

By noon they were both showered, dressed, and she was taking Calvin to the afternoon matinee of some classic science-fiction movie he wanted to see. She was tucking her wallet into her purse when there was a knock on the door, and Calvin answered for her as she slid her feet into flip flop sandals.

"Ummm, Auntie Jamie?"

She looked up at Calvin's careful question, and her heart leapt up into her throat.

Clark Davidson was standing on her stoop, that was the first cause for panic. Then she took a moment to realize he was _fucked up_. Both eyes were healing from bruises, blood pooling in his orbital sockets. His nose looked …_ different_, as well. It had been broken, most definitely. She just stared, mouth hanging open, suddenly and guiltily admitting to herself she definitely owed her neighbour a supper. And hot dogs seemed like not quite enough.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped to hide her surprise.

Clark's eyes darted downward to Calvin then back to her. They looked enough alike that he probably assumed Calvin was hers. "I came over to apologize."

She waited, but that's all there was. "Okay," she returned slowly. "Not accepted."

Calvin looked up at her over his shoulder. "Is this the guy that hit you?"

Jamie was startled by the question, but her nephew was too smart not to have realized what happened, and who had done the damage in front of them. She ignored Calvin and looked back at Clark, waiting.

"Fair enough," he said, reaching into his back pocket.

Jamie tensed and yanked Calvin out of sight from the door, shoving him against the wall. It was an overreaction but she couldn't help it.

Clark froze, hand out. "No, no. I'm not here to … I brought you this." He found what he wanted from his back pocket and held it out towards her. It was a fat envelope.

She frowned, not reaching for it. "What is it?"

"Please. Just take it. Okay?"

"What is it?"

Clark tensed his jaw and looked irritated, lowering his chin to stay calm. "It's the ten grand, okay? Just take it."

"I don't want your money," she hissed, almost a whisper. "Are you insane? You think that makes it okay?"

Now Clark was a mixture of scared _and _confused. "Look, take it and make sure to tell your friend I gave it to you."

Jamie shook her head. "My friend? What the hell are you talking about?"

Clark bit his lip, then fought to keep his tone calm. "Don't fucking jerk me around, Jamie. Take this money and tell your friend to stay the fuck away from me."

It dawned on her so slowly she felt like smacking herself. Her _friend_ who had done a little plastic surgery, _that's _what he meant.

Wait, Tig told Clark to give her _money_?

"I don't know what he told you but I'm not taking payment for getting hit."

"Take the fucking money and call him off, dammit!" Clark roared. There was the rage she'd seen when he hit her, and it made her shrink back despite her anger.

"Easy, asshole." The voice was calm, odd, and she wouldn't have believed the effect it had on Clark Davidson if she hadn't seen it for herself.

The madman in her doorway turned to face the madman on her lawn. Tig was calmly smoking a cigarette, his eyes were focused on her visitor in a way that she never wanted to see directed at _her_.

"Look, I brought her the cash -"

"Good. Took you long enough," Tig cut him off, pinching his cigarette in the corner of his mouth and holding a hand out. "Let me see it."

At Tig's voice Calvin moved to stand in front of her, and she clutched his shoulders to keep him inside the house. What the fuck was this maniac doing?

Clark descended her four concrete steps with the enthusiasm of a man walking the plank and slapped his apparent payment into Tig's hand.

Tig was smiling, cigarette still hanging out, eyes on Clark as he opened the envelope. He only looked down to thumb through the contents. Apparently he liked what he saw. He nodded, taking the cigarette out from between his lips to say, "Good job, Clark."

"We're done here," Clark wanted verified. He looked over his shoulder at Jamie "Right?"

"Eyes on me, asshole," Tig snapped. Clark did as told. The envelope was poked into his chest. "Remember me when you think it's okay to hit anyone. 'Cause you pick the wrong person and you're gonna get it back worse. You got no game, Clark. You're gonna get your ass kicked every time."

Jamie could only watch as Clark Davidson straightened his back, clearly taking offence to that, but he was smart enough, or _hurt _enough, to just walk around the man dressed all in black with a serious-looking leather vest and not turn around. He climbed in his Audi and pulled away, eyes ahead the whole time.

Jamie couldn't piece this together. Had Tig used her attack to blackmail Clark Davidson? Holy shit, that was all kinds of wrong. Her anger was piqued but she still bit her tongue as he sauntered up the steps to her open doorway.

"Here you go sweetheart," he said gently, envelope out. She could see, now that it was open, that it was stuffed with bills.

"What is that?"

He took a breath, looking at the envelope first then back up at her. "It's damages, sweetheart."

"I don't want his money. I don't want to be _paid _for what he did."

"It ain't payment. It's _fair_."

Words totally escaped her. "It's _wrong_," she insisted lamely.

He tilted his head, lowering the envelope. "Think of it this way. You stop cleaning people's houses, you take care of yourself, and get your fucking bathroom fixed. Okay?"

He shoved the envelope at her again and let go so abruptly she caught it strictly as a reflex. Then Tig turned and trotted down her stoop, leaving a waft of cigarette smoke behind him, shouting a "See you at supper," as he made his way down her driveway.

_Now _she was really speechless. Keeping calm, she turned Calvin around to face her. "Calvin?" she said evenly, reminding herself it was his birthday.

"Yes?" He was intuitive, so he said it cautiously.

"What do you talk about over at Tig's?"

He furrowed his brow and bit his lip, looking totally busted.

"Did you tell him I was sick? Did you tell him about the bathroom? Did you tell him I needed money?"

He dropped his eyes when he nodded.

Jamie closed her eyes and squeezed the envelope of hundred-dollar bills. "Calvin, that stuff is private."

"I know."

He sounded so upset about it she made herself exhale quietly and crouch in front of him, taking him by the arms and making him face her. "Peanut, I love you to death. I'm not mad at you. I'm glad you've got a new … friend and everything. But it embarrasses me that he thinks I can't take care of you."

Calvin's worried eyes met hers. "I'm sorry. He asked why you were cleaning houses, said you seemed too smart for that. I guess that's why I mentioned the bathroom, how you needed money to fix it because you had to save up for when you couldn't work. Because you were sick."

Jamie blinked a couple times. Well, explained _that _way it all made sense. Because when you ask an eight year old a question, they will give you the absolute truth if they have nothing to hide.

Tig thought she was too _smart _to clean houses?

"Do you guys talk about _me _a lot?" She hoped like hell she didn't sound angry.

"He asks about you."

That was a confusing revelation. She didn't know if she liked that or not. No, she didn't. She certainly _didn't _like that. "Why?" she blurted out, to herself mostly.

Calvin shrugged.

She shook her head and stood, tossing the scary envelope of money onto her entertainment centre before ushering him out the door ahead of her. "Okay, buddy. We're going to miss that movie if we don't get a move on."

"Aunt Jamie?" he said softly while she locked the front door.

"Yeah, Peanut?"

"I'm sorry."

"Hey," she said playfully, taking his hand. "Birthday boys don't have to be sorry. Don't worry about it. Let's go watch a movie. It'll be fun."

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome!**


	16. Chapter 15

His hair was wet from the shower, dripping water onto his back, and he was staring at the sad offerings of his closet wondering when in hell he got so stupid.

A nine-year-old's birthday party. And he was worried about what to wear for fuck's sake.

Tig yanked a dark-blue button down off a hanger, shrugging it on as he stalked down the hallway to his bathroom to run a towel over his hair again. He'd shaved. He'd put on fucking _aftershave_. Deodorant even, like this was the prom.

Thank God he had a house of his own. Going through this at the clubhouse would really set the brother's bitch-tongues wagging.

In the kitchen he paused by the bright red toolbox he had sitting on the scarred veneer table top, snagging one of those wrapping bows from beside it. Frowning, he unpeeled the paper from the back and fixed the sticky side to the top of the box. That was as much gift wrapping as the kid was getting.

Inside the tool box was a standard mechanics' wrench set. Nothing fancy, but it wasn't the Craftsman standard DIY shit either. They were heavy, chrome-plated like they meant it, mechanic-issue, and they weren't snapped in place in a plastic box. They came in a roll-up satchel. It was the real deal.

He hoped the kid liked them.

Tig pulled at his shirt front again, seriously wondering if it was okay to wear over to the neighbour's for supper, then checked himself with no one else around to hear him. "Seriously. What the fuck, man?"

His own voice made him feel better. _Just go over there, eat a fucking hot dog and leave._ Christ, he didn't have to write an exam.

Tool box in hand, he left the familiarity of his own house, strode down his driveway and started back up the neighbour's when a group across the street caught his eye. He counted five of them, all dressed in baggy jeans and undershirts. Tattoos showed on their arms but he wasn't close enough to see any detail. As he stopped to watch them a car pulled to the curb, stopped while one leaned on the passenger window, handshakes were exchanged, then the car sped off again.

Tig cranked his jaw down, wondering how the hell to play that shit out. He wasn't in his colours, didn't know who those assholes worked for, and would be outnumbered if he decided to explain why dealing on his street was a really fucking stupid idea.

Plus, he was on his way to a birthday party.

Wincing at how ridiculous that seemed, he pulled out his phone, flipped it open and set down the toolbox to send Clay a text. He needed to use both hands.

_Who's dealing in my hood? Handoff just went down in front of my place._

He closed the phone, shoved it back in his pocket and picked the toolbox up off the ground again, surveying over his shoulder as he continued on his way towards the neighbour's place.

One guy saw him watching. Clearly new to the area. He gave a chin salute, then made a gun with his thumb and pointer, directing it Tig's way.

_Motherfucker_ –

Tig was tensed and about to head across the street, numbers be damned, when a voice brought him back.

"Tig? You came!"

He shot a wry smile at Calvin through the screen, climbing the steps and letting the kid open the door for him. "Of course, man. You think I'd miss your bar mitzvah?"

"Tig, it's my _birthday_." The kid knew he was teasing, but he was still impulsive enough to react like Tig meant it.

"Oh, right. Well I hope this gift still makes sense then," he muttered, holding the tool box out to Calvin.

The kid's eyes got huge behind his glasses. "That's for me?"

"Well I thought it was your birthday."

"It is!" he exclaimed, grabbing it away and spinning away with it through the living room. "Aunt Jamie! Tig got me a present! It's _heavy_!"

"Be careful with it," Tig heard Aunt Jamie answer as he followed the wake of nine-year-old-birthday-excitement through a small cramped living room and into an incredibly bright, overheated and great-smelling kitchen. The neighbour was at the counter, cutting a hot dog bun open over a butcher block board before adding it to a piled-high stack on a plate. He had a moment to appreciate her legs in cut-off shorts again as she crossed to the fridge, grabbing a tub of mayo, bent over so her pert ass was on display, cheeks bottoms showing just a bit. She had no idea how high those shorts were riding up, he'd bet good money on it.

Jamie turned her face his way, and he caught something flicker across her expression before she gave him a plastered-on smile. "Hi, Tig," she said, like she was uncomfortable with his name.

She didn't like him, it was obvious. That's what had crossed her beautiful face right then. And after seeing the proof he'd beaten that asshole into giving her money he can't say he completely blamed her. Still, he could play nice.

"Aunt Jamie," he returned, sugar-sweet. "You need help?"

She shook her head, crossing back to the counter. "No, I've got everything almost ready. If you want to find a seat on the deck I'll be bringing everything out soon."

He nodded, passing through the kitchen and heading out the back door. Calvin was at the patio table, the tool box still not opened but he was staring at it and turning it around in front of him, trying to figure out what was inside. Clearly he wasn't allowed to open gifts until after dinner.

"How's your birthday so far, bud?" he asked, plopping down into a seat as he realized there was someone else out there with them; an older broad, long hair that was black and silver, rolling dogs on the grill. At the sound of his voice she had turned, giving him an honest smile.

He stood, good manners coming back from some long-forgotten part of his past, returning the smile and offering his hand. "I'm Tig. I live next door."

The woman took a few steps to shake his hand and was about to reply but Calvin was talking now. "Tig's putting together a 1954 Harley Davidson Super Glide and he's showing me how they work."

The woman's eyes got wide as she smiled wider at Calvin then turned that smile on Tig full-force, too. "That's awfully nice of him," she told Calvin as she took Tig's hand. "I'm Thelma. I'm Jamie's aunt."

Tig gave his best incredulous look. "Nah, I call bullshit on that."

Her smile slipped. "I'm sorry?"

"Sisters, maybe. Not an aunt. No fucking way."

She realized the con and gave a knowing smile, shaking a finger. "Very good, sir. I nearly believed it."

He barked a laugh and sat down as the returned to the barbecue. He set his elbow on the table, leaning forward towards Calvin. "What'd you do today, man?"

"Aunt Jamie made fancy breakfast for me and we went to a movie and then we had ice cream."

"Really? What's fancy breakfast?"

"Not oatmeal or cereal," Calvin answered logically. "We had bacon and eggs and toast. It was really good."

"What movie did you see?"

Calvin was explaining the ludicrous plot when Aunt Jamie carried a plate of buns and a bottle of ketchup out onto the deck. The _manners_ were still coursing through him apparently, because he jumped up to take it all from her and set it down on the table. She didn't thank him, she just headed back inside to get more. He watched her leave while Calvin kept talking, rubbing his chin and once again appreciating those shorts.

Aunt Thelma noticed him, though. The bird was shrewd and he caught her giving _him_ a surveying glance, her eyes darting from where Jamie had vanished before turning back to the grill.

Tig would have to be a little more wary eyeing up the neighbour with Aunt Thelma in town, apparently.

Hot dogs made a great meal in his opinion. The potato salad and potato tots or whatever the fuck they were called were all pretty good, too. Calvin was so excited to have people paying this much attention to him he wouldn't stop talking, but it was fine because the kid was so easy to razz he made it fun.

Aunt Thelma was a fucking riot, too. Quick, sassy, and just as willing to tease Jamie as she was to tease Calvin.

"Did your Aunt Jamie ever tell you about the first time she saw ET?" Thelma asked Calvin as Jamie cleared the table. Tig had offered to help, she declined.

"Aunt Thelma," Jamie warned with a sharp look.

"She was ten. And she was so scared she wouldn't go to sleep without the bedroom light on."

Calvin shot Aunt Jamie a disbelieving look. "Really Aunt Jamie?"

"ET was scary," Jamie insisted. "I hated that thing. Why'd they have to make him so ugly?" As Calvin and Thelma collapsed into giggles Jamie put a hand on her hip, exasperated. "I was _ten_, remember?"

"I'm _nine _Aunt Jamie, and ET isn't scary."

Tig was covering his mouth, not laughing out loud, and Aunt Jamie shot him a look. "Well maybe _you _aren't scared of anything but creepy, ugly little slimy alien guys tend to give me nightmares."

Calvin lost it, and Aunt Thelma put a hand on Jamie's elbow. "Oh sweetie, we're not picking on you."

Jamie's feathers got ruffled. "I know that, Aunt Thelma. _Jeez_," then she stalked off with the rest of the plates, and Tig tried not to watch the way her butt twitched under her shorts when she was ticked off. Luckily he had good peripheral vision.

"Tig, _are _you scared of anything?" Calvin asked seriously, hands politely folded on the glass tabletop in front of him.

Tig raised his eyebrows. "Of course, Charlie."

"Like what?"

He leaned closer. "Aunt Jamie kinda scares me."

"Tig, she's a girl," Calvin reminded him.

"Exactly. Girls are scary."

The cake was brought out, a sugary sweet store-bought one shaped like a motorcycle, which was kind of a kick. They had it with Rocky Road ice cream, which seemed quite appropriate given the cake. All washed down with root beer, Calvin's favourite soft drink.

Once those festivities were done, Aunt Thelma sent Calvin to the shed to get his gift from her and Aunt Jamie. The motorized bike was a hit, Calvin totally over the moon at the sight of it, asking Tig how cool it was.

"Very cool buddy," he assured him. "Very bad ass."

Calvin beamed and Tig couldn't help but smile back.

Then Calvin tore into the toolbox, pulling out the satchel and unrolling it loudly on the glass patio table. "Be careful, Charlie," he said. "Don't break the table."

"Cool!" the kid was shouting. "Aunt Jamie, look! Tig gave me tools! Like the ones he uses!"

Aunt Jamie's eyes were startled when they came up to his. "Tig – those are expensive, aren't they?"

Tig shrugged. "Not really. And there's no point getting tools unless they're the good ones, right Charlie?"

The kid beamed, picking up a wrench and making a surprised face. "They're so heavy."

"That's the real shit, buddy. You'll need them for that new ride of yours, right?"

"That's too much, Tig."

He cast his eyes up at Jamie, easing up on the smile. "Really, it wasn't much, Aunt Jamie. Glad he likes them, that's all."

Jamie was fighting with it, then Aunt Thelma put a hand on her elbow. "It's a great gift, Tig. Very kind."

Tig nodded, eyes going back to Jamie.

She found her manners under Aunt Thelma's gaze, looking so much like Calvin right then it nearly made him smile. "Yeah. That's very generous, Tig."

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome.**


	17. Chapter 16

Jamie had never been more uneasy in her life.

After supper Calvin wanted to play Trivial Pursuit. It was an old edition, the year of release was 1982. But Calvin loved the game, and Aunt Thelma and Aunt Jamie had stopped _letting _him win two years ago. Jamie suspected he had a photographic memory, and it wasn't so much understanding that had him kicking their ass every time but more that he remembered the answers from the first time he heard the questions.

Tig agreed to stay and play with them.

Jamie was surprised by that. He nearly won, too, not even opting to _let _the nine-year-old birthday boy win.

Then Calvin decided he wanted to watch GhostBusters. He loved old cheesy comedies from the 80s, so they dusted off the VCR and put the old VHS _tape _in the player to watch.

Tig agreed to stay for that, too.

Now she was sitting on one end of the sofa, Calvin tucked under her arm, Tig on the opposite end of the sofa, legs out straight in front of him, crossed at the ankle. Aunt Thelma was dozing off in an armchair.

She was staring at the climax of this ridiculous movie: the GhostBusters riding the Statue of Liberty through New York and doing battle with the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. She was tense, jittery, all because of the man sitting as far as possible away from her on the sofa. So the movie was getting a ridiculous amount of her attention.

She didn't like how mushy her insides got when Calvin opened his gift from Tig. She didn't like the whoosh in her gut to see Tig and Calvin laughing and talking like good friends, teasing each other over Trivial Pursuit of all things.

And she didn't like feeling comfortable with his big, scary and friendly body in her living room.

So she forced herself to stare forward at the TV like nothing was disturbing her. That is, until –

"Jamie," Tig whispered, and she started, turning her attention to him physically. He nodded down to Calvin.

She dipped her head down to her shoulder. Calvin had crashed from the sugar high, and he was so completely out his mouth was hanging open. She had to smile, shifting her arms to scoop him up.

"Can I help?" Tig whispered, and she shook her head.

"Nah. I've done this before."

Calvin was a skinny kid. She carried him like a toddler, his arms over her shoulders, legs to each side of her hips, holding him by his bony butt.

She set him in his bed after pulling the blankets out of the way, took off his socks, then covered him up, turning the light off while shutting the door behind herself.

Aunt Thelma was still sleeping on the chair. Tig was gone.

Covering a yawn she stumbled into the kitchen, cringing at the thought of washing dishes but –

Surprised, she stopped in the entryway. Tig Trager was at her sink, dishtowel over his shoulder, running water and squirting dish soap into the stream.

"What are you doing?"

He turned to her, smiled, then turned back to the sink. "Seems pretty obvious, Aunt Jamie."

"You don't have to clean up, Tig. I'm happy to do it."

"Nah, go watch the rest of the movie. You should rest."

She set her teeth. "Tig, I know Calvin told you about my, well -"

"Cancer," Tig said, casting her another shot of those blue eyes at her over his shoulder. "Yeah, he did. He's worried about you. And I'm worried about him. So take a load off, Aunt Jamie."

She sighed, taking the towel off his shoulder and standing beside the second sink. "I'll dry," she insisted, knowing she likely wouldn't win this argument.

He just grinned into the sudsy water, wiping at the cutlery first. "Stubborn," he muttered.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing, sweetheart."

She took the first handful of cutlery from him and dried it all off before storing it away in the right drawer. It felt domestic and familiar but she refused to let it be comfortable.

"So where is it?" he asked casually, handing her the next bundle of clean but wet forks.

"What?"

"The cancer. Where is it?"

She met his eyes, surprised. "Oh. Ummm, well …"

"Sorry, that's a private question."

"No, no. It's fine. You get sick and you get used to people wanting to know intimate details about you pretty quick," she admitted, putting away the dry forks.

"You don't have to tell me."

"It's breast cancer," she said softly, returning to his side at the sink.

His head came up quickly, and she didn't miss the way his eyes sank down to her chest.

"Really?" she said, voice sharp with annoyance, bringing his attention back up to her face.

"Sorry, sorry. That's just … that's a damn shame." He _did _look like he was in mourning and his eyes went down to her cleavage again.

"Jesus _Christ,_" she muttered, taking the plate he just finished washing.

"Sorry," he repeated, not hiding a laugh.

"It's not funny."

"Of course it's not," he agreed, eyes back on the sink, nodding in agreement. "Trust me honey, it pains me to think of anything happening to them."

"Wow."

"What?"

"You're a pig."

He shrugged. "I'm fucking honest, honey. You tell any straight guy that those babies are about to be altered in any way and he's thinking the exact same fucking thing. You know I'm right." He looked at her sideways as she put the plate back in the cupboard. "Every guy who's seen you has clocked them, trust me. It's true that we all like breasts, but honey you've got an impressive set and I've only seen them under your clothes."

She didn't even get mad. She felt her cheeks flame as she took the next plate. She hoped like hell it wasn't showing how much he flustered her.

"And Calvin said you're having surgery," he said next, handing over the next plate.

"Day after tomorrow. I have to fast for 24 hours ahead of time so, it worked out well for Calvin's birthday."

The next few dessert plates were cleaned and dried wordlessly. Gradually she was standing close enough that their arms brushed against each other, and that stupid whoosh ran through her each time.

"Listen, I can't offer much in the way of comfort, I know," he finally said, voice surprisingly low. "But if I can help with anything, you get in a bind where you need someone to watch the kid for a few hours or you need me to take in your fucking mail or whatever, let me know."

He held up a dessert plate. She grabbed it, but he didn't let go.

Jamie slid her eyes over to his blue gaze, swallowing. "I don't think that will be -"

"I want to help, Jamie. And if you're suspicious of my motivation, don't be. I like that kid. He's funny, kinda weird, but that just reminds me of me."

She smiled at that.

"I can tell you come from good people. And what's happening here is the shits. Good people should have help when they need it. So, I'm offering you my help. Whatever you think I can handle."

It was a good speech. A fucking _great _speech, actually. And she believed every word, even though she wasn't sure how the read the expression on his face or in his eyes.

"Okay, Tig," she whispered, and he let go of the plate so she could dry it.

He nodded, satisfied, then began washing the nastier dishes to wrap up the cleaning. The rest of the work passed wordlessly, and Jamie concentrated on getting her heart to stop flopping over.

_Good people should have help when they need it. So, I'm offering you my help._

She liked that he wanted to help, especially since she didn't have to ask for it. That was … really _nice _actually. She wasn't used to that.

Jamie was watching his hands as he washed, the tattoos that ran up his forearms, the heavy silver rings he hadn't bothered to take off first. She liked looking at his hands. They moved deliberately, deceptively slow in appearance. But she'd seen what they could do. The evidence had been on Clark Davidson's face.

The thought of how he'd done that, _for her_, had a very different effect on her as they stood side by side, almost joined at the hip, doing something as mundane as washing dishes. All of that done without her asking. And how do you pay someone back for that?

"I'm keeping the money," she said softly. "I won't deposit it, I'll put it in my safety deposit box."

He nodded, attention on the suds in the sink. "That's good. You shouldn't be scared of your own fucking bathroom. Are you getting it fixed?"

She shrugged. "I will. I'll have to start calling around after the surgery."

"Forget it. I'll do that."

Her mouth flopped open, and she shook her head while she tried to put the words together. "What? No, that's fine. You've done too much for us already. I'm sure I'll be able to handle it."

"Babe, let me make the calls. I'll make sure the work's good and that they won't jerk you around on the price or the time line. Right?"

His eyes met hers again, blue and calming, which couldn't be right. He was dangerous, his eyes should _not _have a calming effect on her. _Especially_ when he was offering her a favour.

"Are you a criminal?" she blurted, and if the question was a shock he hid it very well.

He actually laughed. "Have I been in jail?" She nodded but he didn't look up to see it. "Yeah, I've been in jail. A few times for different things."

"This group you're with, the motorcycle gang -"

"It's a club, honey. Not a gang."

She swallowed. "Sure. This club, is that … your job? How you make your money?"

He was grinning wide as he finally broke eye contact. "I'm a mechanic, sweetheart. I fix vehicles. I got the tax forms to prove it."

Then his eyes stayed on her until she nodded. Suddenly he pulled the plug on the sink, making her jump a bit.

"Thank you," she stammered, offering him the dishtowel to dry his hands. He did so while she held the end, which was odd. She'd expected him to just take it from her.

This meant she was looking up at him, and he was looking at her, too. She was fidgety as she realized it, not sure if letting go meant she was intimidated. Or wondering why she was over-analyzing everything so much.

"Thank_ you_ for letting me come over," he replied, and she had to remember the last thing she'd said.

"Oh," she said stupidly, nervous. "No problem. It's … it's nice to see Calvin with an adult male influence. I'm terrified I'll make him a hen-pecked mess."

"And I'm the opposite of that."

She had to laugh. "Yes. I'd say you are." He was done drying his hands, so she set the towel on the counter. "Well, good night Tig," she said, not sure what was supposed to happen next.

He tilted his head a bit, almost like he was curious, then took a step closer. Like an idiot, she didn't back away. His eyes ran over her face, and that blue stare was unsettling but not because it was scary.

She felt herself inhale deeply. His hand went to her cheek, then to the side of her jaw, tilting her chin up a bit. His hands were rough, very warm from the water. They felt over-sized on her skin.

Jamie might have stopped breathing. She wasn't sure, she had other things to worry about. Like how his eyes tracked the motion of her tongue licking her lower lip. Why'd she do that?

Without knowing how, she found her hands on his sides. Maybe she meant to push him away. Well, she failed.

He was too close. He was warm. He smelled … really good, actually. And that shirt on him was incredibly flattering; she'd noticed how it brought out his eyes right when he arrived.

When his face softened the deep lines at his brow and the sides of his mouth lightened a bit, but she could still see them. They were nice. They gave him a lot of character. He was freshly shaved, maybe that was what she smelled, aftershave. His hair was curled and looked a little wild, but it suited his eyes and laugh and smile and presence perfectly.

He lived, smelled, looked and felt unlike anything she'd ever known in her narrow existence. Being this close to all that unbridled _life _was … exciting, as it turned out.

One of his hands was on her shoulder blade, and it ran downward, pulling her in. She didn't resist; his eyes were on hers and it was like her skin was being peeled raw. Sensitive. His shirt against her bare arms was like a touch.

"Umm," she tried to say something intelligent, but that was where it ended.

The hand still on her jaw slid to the back of her neck, reeling her against him, and just as her body collided into his she found her mouth swallowed up by his lips.

There was a lot happening at once. His chest against hers was hard and warm, his arm looping around her lower back strong and tight. A possessive gesture, almost. More aggressive than she was used to.

But she didn't worry about that. Because his mouth, his lips, oh good _God_ that was the best part of it all. _Jesus …_

* * *

**Yeah, I'm leaving you hanging there. :)**

**Comments and reviews welcome and appreciated!**


	18. Chapter 17

_Christ_.

Aunt Jamie was a sensory experience he never anticipated. Tig had kissed plenty of women before who were happy to be getting it on with a Son.

None of them were cute girl-next-door types who blushed when they realized he was checking out their rack; a blush than ran down their neck and onto the skin in question. Who became breathy and flustered just with eye contact.

Who would lick their bottom lip and have no clue how that action could drive a guy insane.

Of course he was aware that her hands were on his waist. He was waiting for her to push him off. She didn't, and when he eased her closer her hands fisted the fabric of his shirt, and he knew she didn't realize she had done it.

She was staring at him. It was making _him _warm. Making him hard, actually. But he wasn't going to focus on that. He could see her bottom lip was still wet from where she'd licked it, and he pulled her right to him, the mouth that met his sweeter than that store-bought birthday cake.

Something kept him in check, and for some reason nibbling at her like soft-serve ice cream was more than he thought he deserved. The repetitive motion of brushing his lips on hers, the way she would catch his lower lip between hers, all of it was an amazing give and take. Sure he had her crushed to him, immobilized in his grip, but she had him ensnared.

He parted his mouth from hers reluctantly, to say the least, and gazed down on her. Her face was slack, pink, and she had to blink her eyes a few times to see straight. That was a hell of an ego boost.

Tig waited for her to tell him what to do. Whether it was to tell him to fuck off, kiss her again, carry her to bed, or kiss her feet he was going to do it.

But with those flushed cheeks, breathy voice and fucking cute face Jamie didn't tell him what to do. She just whispered, "Tig," which made him take her mouth again, moaning to finally have his hand in that fucking gorgeous hair, barely believing how warm and alive it was.

To further shock the hell out of him, her tongue swept along his lip, making his arm around her back tighten. Enthusiastically his tongue slid along hers, and her mouth opened to allow him access.

Tig didn't even know a woman could do this with just a kiss. With her hands clutching him, her chest soft against his, her tongue giving as good as it was getting, he would do anything she wanted. Anything. Just to keep her kissing him like this.

He wanted this taste in his mouth for all time. He wanted her smell in his nose always. He wanted the feel of her breasts and arms and stomach available to his senses whenever he felt like it. He wanted to own every part of her he could.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Excuse me."

Jamie flew from his grip like a magic trick, turning towards the sink as Aunt Thelma padded on the linoleum to the fridge. "I'll just get my glass of milk and go to bed."

It was painfully awkward to stand there with a raging hard on and racing heart while Aunt Thelma poured some milk, gave them both a smile, then shuffled back to the other room.

He waited a beat, then said quietly, "Jamie -"

"You should go," she suggested, not turning around. "I'm sorry, that's rude but … you should go."

He nodded, hands on his hips. "Right."

"Tig -"

"No, you're right. You've got a lot on your mind."

She turned then, and he wasn't unhappy to see her cheeks were still rosy and her eyes shone bright. "I … I liked that. I did."

He knew she did, he was there for it.

"But things are about to get weird for me."

Tig nodded. "I can't imagine, sweetheart."

"You said you'd help any way you could."

"And I will." Jesus, was that really _him_, desperate to be told he's a good boy?

"I need you to be a shoulder for Calvin. He won't tell me when something's bothering him, he doesn't want to worry me. But he'll tell _you_, I know he will. I love that he's coming out of his shell with you. I really like how … you are with him. So can you be that for him?"

Tig nodded, rubbing his chin. "Of course. I was already going to be there for him, Jamie. We'll build the bike, he'll still have some fun _kid _stuff this summer. And if his aunt needs anything," he said low, stalking to her slowly, noticing how her chest rose with her deep inhale as he did it. "I'll be here for that, too. Okay?"

She was arching back over the counter to keep distance between them, but it was thrusting her chest towards him. He kept his eyes on her face; it was a struggle but he toughed it out.

"Okay," she whispered, nodding.

"I liked that too," he admitted after a pause, letting his eyes take in her eyes, cheeks, mouth, all of it. "I'm going to want to do that again. But not until you're ready, sweetheart. Because it probably won't stop there. I got a little taste of you just now, and I'm going to be remembering that for a long time to come."

She inhaled sharply again, and his resolve was gone. His eyes scanned her chest, which made her inhale again. "I don't know what you're about to go through," his mouth was saying, his mind trying to imagine what her breasts would look like loose and in his hands. "But when you're through it, I'd like the chance to give you something really nice."

His meaning was clear. Her cheeks and neck got pinker and her eyes dropped from his as, swear to Christ, she licked her damn lips again.

He tilted her chin up with one crooked finger, brushing his lips upwards across hers, his skin sparking from that lingering touch.

She didn't open her eyes before he did, and he felt himself smile. She was _so _right there with him.

"Good night," he said quietly.

"Good night Tig," she whispered, suddenly blinking rapidly.

And to go against what he'd thought of himself up until that point, he did the _right _and _smart _thing and got the hell away from Aunt Jamie.

As he was unlocking his front door he felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket. He pulled it out, shoved his front door open, and flipped the phone open. Clay didn't text, Clay preferred to talk.

"What's up?" he asked as soon as he had the call answered, shutting his door behind him.

"Dealing in your neighbourhood?"

Tig nodded as he answered. "Yeah. Skinny white kids. One of them did the finger-gun shooting motion at me. I wasn't wearing my kutte and he didn't know who I was."

"Out of town talent," Clay surmised. "Heard from Unser they're finding a lot of shitty meth on the streets. Two ODs in the last month, one kid almost died."

"Who would send dealers out into Charming without warning about SAMCRO?"

Clay just laughed. "You get three guesses."

"Darby."

"Bingo. Skinny white kids? I'm more than convinced now. Get to church in half an hour."

Tig snapped his phone shut, that pissed off vibe returning from before he'd set foot in Jamie and Calvin's cosy little world. He stared out the side window off his darkened kitchen, perfectly in line with where Jamie was still at the kitchen sink, he guessed wiping down the counters or some shit based on how she was moving. As he watched she stopped, eyes gazing off into the distance, a small smile on her mouth as she touched her lips with one hand.

Tig exhaled loud. The tingle of sweet hadn't kicked in this time, only because he'd been so fucking horny just looking at her. The thought of any asshole dealing drugs around Calvin made him see red. Knowing what other shit came with having dealers in your neighbour, having that anywhere near Calvin _or _Jamie made him homicidal.

He allowed a small smile that Sons of Anarchy didn't like drug dealers in Charming. This might be kinda fucking fun.

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome as always. :)**


	19. Chapter 18

Jamie swallowed, and it was like trying to pass a cotton ball down her throat. She almost panicked, then remembered what had happened.

Blinking carefully against stark-white surroundings, she licked her lips, her mouth pasty and fuzzy-feeling. She took a deep breath and it felt like someone had parked a piano on her chest.

She lived through surgery. Thumbs up all around.

Her environment slid into focus slowly. The first thing she saw was Calvin, already hovering close, like he'd noticed she was waking up. She gave a smile, lifting a hand to muss his hair. It took a lot of effort but she had to do it.

"Hey Peanut," she croaked, coughing.

Calvin was on it. He snatched a glass of water off a table she couldn't see, holding it with the straw pointed at her. It made her heart hurt even as she smiled, taking a sip and nodding to show it was enough. He made the cup disappear, drawing even closer.

"Are you _okay_ Aunt Jamie?"

"Yeah, I'm good. How are you? You miss me?"

"Yes," he answered automatically, making her chuckle.

Then there was a sniffle. Jamie turned her head to the other side of the bed, and Aunt Thelma was leaning against the wall, tears in her eyes and her cheeks wet. Jamie was too zoned out to wonder what could be wrong. "Aunt Thelma?"

"Oh sweetie. Honey." That was all she got before Aunt Thelma covered her face with both hands.

What the hell?

"Aunt Thelma, you're scaring her," Calvin said softly, which made the older woman nod with a laugh.

"I know. You're right, Calvin. I'm sorry, Jamie."

Jamie's frown deepened. "What's going on?"

Thelma stared at her, then her grey-blue eyes went to Calvin. "Honey, go wait outside for me, okay? They'll kick us out of here soon and I need to talk to Aunt Jamie real quick."

Calvin did as asked without question, sauntering while still showing some reluctance. When the door snicked shut, Jamie gave Aunt Thelma her whole attention.

"What is it?" Jamie asked, feeling her heart give out a little bit.

Thelma half-sat on the bed, taking Jamie's hand. "The doctors got the tumour out of the right breast."

"Okay."

"When they got to the left … well, there was more there than they first saw in the mammogram. So they … they had to take the whole left breast."

Jamie's heart sunk further. "What?"

"I'm sorry honey."

"They said _lumpectomy_. Can they just _do _that?"

Aunt Thelma shrugged helplessly. "They did, honey. I'm so sorry."

Jamie's eyes squeezed shut. "Why wouldn't they _ask _first?"

Aunt Thelma tightened her hold on her hand. "Insurance, maybe? Or maybe it couldn't wait, honey. The good news is, the tumours are gone."

She shook her head. "Fuck."

"Jamie, we'll see what's possible after your treatments. Reconstruction. It's possible."

"Possible and _expensive_," she snapped bitterly. "Who's got money for _that_?"

"Jamie -"

"I'd almost rather they took them _both_."

"No, sweetie. This is what we've got to deal with. So we will, okay?"

Jamie took a deep breath, not wanting to look down. Not wanting the physical evidence to confirm what Aunt Thelma was saying.

Everything _felt _normal at the minute, that was the trippy part. She didn't feel like she was missing parts. She brought both hands up, lowering them onto her chest. It hurt, but she was concentrating on her hands. The one on the right came in contact with her breast, and it hurt but it was _there_. Her left hand kept lowering, settling on bandages, nowhere near level with her right hand.

She sobbed out loud suddenly, hands quickly covering her face. Aunt Thelma was there, kissing her forehead and trying to pull her hands away but she wasn't winning; Jamie wanted to be alone. She didn't want to worry about anyone else, she was going to be selfish and feel sorry for herself for a little while.

"Jamie," Thelma was whispering, kissing her forehead. "My girl, my beautiful girl. Talk to me, honey."

"I can't," she wailed. "I just can't. I just … I need to be alone."

"Jamie -"

"I'm sorry, I know that sounds horrible but I really do want to be left alone. Just … give me a day." She lowered her hands, begging Aunt Thelma. "Please. I can't … I can't deal with this yet. I need some time."

Aunt Thelma was biting her lip, shrewd eyes passing her over. Then she nodded. "Okay, honey. You rest. I'll take Calvin home with me. You take care of you, I'll look out for him. Okay?"

She nodded, thanking God for Thelma. "Thank you, Aunt Thelma. Just tell him I'm really tired and hurting."

"You got it, honey." Then Aunt Thelma put a hand to the side of her neck. "My girl, you are beautiful. You are special. You are a saint. I love you to death. It will take more than this to make you less of a person, believe me."

Jamie felt her face crumple again, but she nodded and grabbed Thelma's wrist. "Thank you."

Thelma kissed her cheek this time then left Jamie on her own, the room very quiet. Heavy. Oppressive.

Jamie wiped her cheeks. Controlled her breathing. Tried to take stock of what all this would actually _mean_ for her.

She wasn't having kids anyway. Half-capacity breast feeding was not going to be a worry. And as far as men … well, the most attention she'd received on them was from her scary neighbour the other night. She didn't believe what he said about anyone else noticing them. Except maybe Clark Davidson, and that was hardly a loss.

She pushed the blanket to her waist, wincing from the effort. It hurt the wall of her chest. Then she _saw _it and had to stifle another sob. The line where her breasts would normally tent the hospital gown forward was wonky, higher on one side than the other. She was incomplete now.

She pulled the blankets back up, dreading having to see it without the bandages. She didn't want to see the scars. She didn't want to know how ugly this was going to be.

And she still had radiation and chemo to look forward to.

The door opened again, and when her surgeon entered the room she wanted to pull her pillow over her face and just stop breathing. When she'd first met Doctor Foster she'd been horrified. He was about five years younger than her, totally adorable and nice to boot. Seeing him _now _she just wanted to crawl into a corner and die.

"Miss Taylor," he greeted her softly, kindly.

She picked at the top of the hospital blanket, trying to stop the nervous fidgeting but unsuccessful. "Doctor Foster."

"I can tell your aunt gave you the bad news. I am so sorry, but once we started removing the tumours in your left breast, we found they were dense and tightly connected. They had attached themselves almost all the lobules in the breast, and we had to remove all of the tissue to be sure nothing was left behind. I am so sorry that you had to wake up to this reality."

She nodded. The only thing worse than an attractive man looking at your breasts while you're on his examining table and remarking, "This is unfortunate" was having that man describe your breast as _tissue_.

Tig was wrong. They weren't nice. They were _tissue_ that was killing her.

"I just thought if that was the decision, I would have the option of saying no," Jamie said, sounding younger than Calvin. Even though she'd _told _them to get rid of anything that was going to kill her. This as just a huge fucking shock.

Doctor Foster sat on a stool that was tucked under the side table next to her bed. "I wish I could have done that. Another appointment, another surgery booked, more money on your insurance. I didn't want to risk giving you any trouble with the insurance company. Or another surgery for you, pushing the rest of your treatment further back."

Well, that was considerate and logical in a totally _masculine_ way, she supposed. Just not very comforting.

"There are many options available as far as lingerie and prosthesis. I'd be happy to give you a few names. There's no reason for you to feel any less comfortable with your body. We've got a long way to go yet, Jamie. I want you to know that a positive outlook is going to help you come out the other side of this just as healthy and lovely as you were the first time I met you."

She blinked a few tears away, laughing dryly. "Is that part of med school? The bedside manner?"

He smiled and got to his feet, leaning over her slightly. "It's part of med school, but I happen to mean it right now. You're a beautiful woman, Jamie. We're going to make you better. Okay?"

She blinked a couple times. "Okay."

When Doctor Foster was gone Jamie was a little more bewildered than upset.

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome as always!**


	20. Chapter 19

Tig watched the blood swirl down the drain, his now-clean hands resting on the basin's edge. That had been real good. Making headway on the drugs coming into Charming, getting high up the ladder to see where the bankroll was coming from.

This cook house had been the latest bit of intel from a kid he and Clay and Bobby had grabbed the day before. The tweaker had squealed immediately, pissing himself to give all the goods he had, including the address of a meth lab. _Inside _Charming town limits.

Clay had been pissed. The balls to do it was insulting, and also gave them _all _the feeling those neo-Nazi douchebag Nords weren't in on this. They were usually smart enough to set up shop _outside_ of town limits. The kid they'd grabbed had the iron cross tat on his arm and a swastika on his chest, but he wasn't hard in any way that indicated someone as shrewd as Darby would trust him.

Someone new, someone stupid. That could still be a dangerous threat to the protection SAMCRO offered Charming.

This ramshackle, tar-papered meth house had three people inside. They could assume the two cooks were smart enough to maybe have some kind of information worth easing out. Instead, both those bastards had clammed up tighter than a nun at a condom factory. Since they couldn't leave witnesses those two were dead and floating face-down in the nasty shit they'd been making.

The third one had _maybe _been there to keep guard on the cook, but he was a junkie. Scratchy and itchy and fidgety. He'd been willing to try and bargain for his life, the problem was he didn't know anything worthwhile.

He'd only started spilling when Tig pulled out a fingernail. He gave up the name "Tiny." Tiny had hired this guy, told him to bring a piece and make sure the cook went down without any trouble. Tiny paid well and had the cooks scared enough not to talk.

But the guard was an addict, and they had no trouble spilling.

When he'd passed out from pain Clay finished him with a bullet through the skull - one they found in the house, serial number filed off, gloves on of course.

Tiny had to have street connections, that was the good news. The bad news was he apparently was one scary ass mother fucker.

"You all right?"

Tig raised his eyes to his president's in the mirror over the sink. "Yeah. You kidding?"

Clay smiled slow. "Call it a night, Tig. Go dip your wick."

He smiled back, shaking the water from his hands. "Thanks boss."

Once he was on his bike, however, he headed for his house instead of the compound. The day before last Jamie had gone into the hospital. He hadn't seen her _or _Calvin since the kid's birthday, and he felt like it was his responsibility to watch over the house while they were gone. With those dealers in the area he wanted to make sure their place was okay.

Fucking. Lame.

The street lights were coming on as he eased the bike into his drive, killing the engine and swinging a leg over as a car pulled up in front of the neighbour's place. He unfastened his helmet, frowning at the cab that was idling at the curb. The interior lights were on, but he couldn't make out who was inside. So he waited.

The driver got out of his side, circling the vehicle to open the passenger door. He reached in to help someone stand up on the curb, and Tig felt his inner possessive caveman go into overdrive.

It was Jamie. And she couldn't stand up on her own. And the fucking cab driver was touching her.

Knowing it was irrational, he stalked down the driveway and grabbed the cab driver by the shoulder, shoving him away. The guy was about to lip him off, took a quick gander at his face and held both hands up. "I was just helping her, man."

Jamie was staring at him like he was out of his mind, and he was once again ashamed of his intuitive reaction. He ignored the driver, keeping his tone calm. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, sighing and giving the driver an _It's okay, he's a moron but I got this _head nod. "I'm fine, Tig. I'm just exhausted and I wanted my own bed."

He nodded, taking her elbow. "I'll help you." She shied from his touch, but he didn't let go. "Jamie, just let me help you, babe."

She swallowed, then nodded and looked down at her feet. She was baggy flannel pants and an oversized sweatshirt. Seeing her basically ready for bed was … comforting. Close. "Get your keys ready, babe."

She dug in the pocket of a duffel bag she was holding, then handed her keys to him with no hesitation. Tig gave the cab driver a nod, and held Jamie's arm as she walked. When he saw her wince he let go. "Everything okay?"

She took a breath. "Yeah. You were cranking my arm up a little high. It was pulling."

"Sorry honey. I'll get the door for you." He took her bag, scooted up the stairs ahead of her and had the door open as reached the threshold. Instinctively he found a light switch next to the door that flooded the living room with light.

"You crashing on the couch?" he asked, setting her keys on a hanger inside the door.

"No, the bedroom is closer to the bathroom. The one that's _not_ full of mould."

Tig nodded, then headed down the hallway ahead of her, knowing where her room was because this house was the reversed version of his own.

"Tig," she protested weakly behind him, but he was already flicking the light on and setting her bag down on the bed.

"You got painkillers?"

She nodded, entering the bedroom slowly and stiffly. "Painkillers and antibiotics."

"Good." He left her to climb into bed, heading to the kitchen. He poured her a large glass of water and carried it back to the bedroom, setting it down on the night stand nearest the side of the bed she clearly slept on. The other side was shoved against the wall.

Jamie was sitting on the edge, staring down at her hands, and when he said her name she jumped, then laughed nervously.

He crouched down on his heels, taking her hands in his. "Everything okay, babe?"

She nodded, rewarding him with full-on eye contact. "Just … really hurts right now."

He nodded, standing again. "I'll leave you alone. Get some sleep. Where's the kid?"

"Aunt Thelma's. I'll call tomorrow and tell them I was released early."

"Sounds good. Goodnight, Jamie."

She smiled at him, a pained and pinched one but a smile all the same. "Goodnight, Tig."

On his way out he checked all her windows and the back door, making sure everything was safe and secure. Tightened the knob on the kitchen sink since it was dripping. And after the slightest hesitation, he snagged her keys and locked the front door behind him.

* * *

**You guys are rabid! "Update today!" "Longer chapters!" I'm updating every second day! LOL!**

**I love it though. Comments, reviews, complaints and demands are always welcome. :)**


	21. Chapter 20

Jamie rolled to her side, half asleep, only to have the searing pain in her chest jolt her completely conscious quite rudely. She gasped, rolled onto her back again, then waited for the hurt to stop.

Jesus, it felt like she'd never be okay.

As sleep started to fade away to a distant memory, she became aware of a really great smell. It made her stomach actually _gurgle. _She put her hand over her abdomen, surprised to be hungry for the first time in three days.

Then she heard a voice, low, not very familiar and not loud enough so she could discern what was being said. Her bedroom door was closed, muffling the sound.

Instead of being scared, Jamie sat up, already guessing who it was but still waiting to be wrong. She pulled the door open and made her careful way down the hall, the voice getting louder and confirming her fears. It hadn't been a hallucination from really good painkillers. Tig Trager had put her to bed the night before, and now he was in her kitchen apparently making eggs and bacon, going by her nose.

Jamie irrationally wanted him menacing and distant again. That was a hell of a lot less scary than this.

"Tig?" she asked, as though the sound of her voice would make the apparition poof out of existence and she'd be alone in her house.

He turned around, cell phone to his ear, then wordlessly pointed to the table. She then noticed that it was set for two, plates and cutlery, orange juice and coffee mugs.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, but whoever he was talking to on the phone had apparently paused to let _him_ talk.

"Nah, nah. I'll go. I'll tell Oswald exactly what's up. Just ask him to give me a half hour to finish breakfast."

This was all said while Jamie sat on one of her chairs, feeling like maybe this _wasn't _her house. The orange juice looked really good, so she curled her hand around the glass and was about to drink when he spoke again, loud and jolting.

"Fuck you, Clay," he exclaimed with a laugh. "We don't all have old ladies to cook for us, you know."

Okay, _that _seemed a lot more like him.

"Later, man." She heard the beep of his call disconnecting, then a hot pan was set on a pot holder in front of her. Bacon, fantastic, curled-up almost close to burnt, bacon.

She looked up at him, still feeling uncoordinated. "What are you doing here?" she repeated stupidly.

He smiled. "Eat breakfast. I could hear your stomach from the doorway."

Her cheeks warmed at that, and she had to drop her eyes back to the bacon as he put a bowl of scrambled eggs on the table too, then pulled two plates hot from the oven, putting one in front of her.

He _heated _the plates?

"Aunt Thelma called," he shared cordially, sitting down across from her. "She was freaking out because she called the hospital and they'd said you were released."

Thelma already called the hospital? Jesus, Jamie had no idea what time it was. The clock on the oven said 11:30, but that couldn't be right. Right?

"Wait – what? You answered my phone?"

"Didn't want it to wake you up."

She blinked twice as he pushed the eggs towards her. Her stomach growled again but she spoke over it. "What are you _doing _here?"

He set his elbows on the table, levelling his freakishly blue eyes at her, and tilted his head like he was talking to a puppy. "Babe, I just made you breakfast. You had a good nights' sleep, right?"

She blinked three times. "Umm ... yeah. I did."

"I thought you should enjoy your rest at home, but you gotta eat. I was checking on 'ya and thought you were never waking up so I started cooking."

She rubbed her forehead as he shrugged and served himself some eggs. "You were checking on me? How long have you been here?"

He shrugged again, chewing a mouthful and taking a sip of juice. "I don't know. Nine-thirty? Ten?"

"You've been in my house the last two hours and I just slept through it?"

He nodded. "Pain killers. Must be the good shit, babe."

Her stomach growled again, and it made him break into such a wide and honest grin she nearly smiled back. Maybe she did let it slip a little.

"Just eat, Jamie. Relax. But don't get your hopes up for supper, unless you want this again. This is the only thing I can make."

She watched him pile more eggs on his plate, set the bowl close to her, then spear a few strips of bacon with his fork. Another gurgle in her belly made up her mind for her.

Jamie spooned a small serving of eggs on her plate, grabbed a couple pieces of bacon, the whole while waiting to wake up from this seriously bizarre dream.

First bite of the eggs told her she was awake. "Oh my _God,_" she moaned, "these are amazing!"

He chuckled, head down as though he was trying to pass for bashful. He failed at it miserably. "Wanna know my secret?"

She swallowed while nodding.

"Too fucking bad. You want these eggs again I have to come over and make them for you."

She brought her eyes to his, startled, but he was smiling again. It made her laugh, catching herself unaware.

"There she is," Tig muttered. "_Mellow _Aunt Jamie. I like her a lot."

She looked away on that, her fork playing over her plate. Uncomfortable. But not in a bad way. Uncomfortable because he was in her kitchen again, helping her, taking care of her. Just steps from where he'd kissed her.

Why'd she let him do that? And more to the point, why'd she stop him?

Now, more than ever before in the past few days, she was acutely aware of what had been taken from her. The way Tig had kissed her, held her, everything he said promised more closeness, intimacy, all something she'd wanted when she sent him away. Now that was nothing she'd be willing to participate in ever again. He couldn't see her _now_. Jesus, the way he'd gone on about her chest … that was all there was to his attraction. Well, it was mangled and half-gone, nothing he'd want, he just didn't know it yet.

And why the hell should it matter? He scared her.

She picked up a piece of bacon, eating it bite by bite, watching Tig as he cleaned the eggs off his plate, knife and fork politely working together for every last morsel. More than his table manners, she liked his hands. His silver rings were interesting because there was nothing metrosexual about him despite the jewellery. His hands were actually beautiful, now that she was really looking. And she remembered how he'd held her, how strong those hands had been. She felt a lump in her throat.

She should have slept with him. That could have been her last fling. She might have really liked it if she'd known that was the final chance, just let herself go with it.

What an insane thought. Clearly, she was still under the influence of pain killers.

Knowing her cheeks were likely bright red now, she finished the strips of bacon and polished off all the eggs quickly. She declined the offer of toast but let him pour her a mug of coffee.

"Aunt Thelma and Calvin will be here shortly after noon," he informed her, carrying her plate to the sink. "Go have a shower, I got the dishes." Then he pointed at her meaningfully. "Did you take your pills?"

"No, not yet."

"Go take them while you got food in your stomach."

She frowned. "Tig, why are you doing all this?"

"What?"

She waved her arm carefully across the kitchen, getting to her feet. "Breakfast. Putting me to bed. Arranging Calvin's drop-off with my aunt. What … what are you _doing_?"

In two long strides he was in front of her. He tried to pull her against him but she resisted, not wanting him to notice anything strange about her build. He seemed okay with holding both her hands instead. "I'm in a position to help you. I'm gonna help you. You took on Calvin. You didn't have to but you did. And from what I can see, your Aunt Thelma's the only one helping _you _and she lives an hour away."

Jamie took a deep breath. "My sister robbed you."

"Yeah, she did."

"Did you sleep with her?" She wasn't sure what made her ask that. It just occurred to her that Jaclyn had been with him and probably kissed him. And Jaclyn wasn't chopped up. She was still whole and beautiful.

"Not exactly," was his frustrating answer. That _had _to mean yes.

Jamie covered her face with both hands. She was having a nervous breakdown, that _had _to be what was going on. She'd only ever been jealous of Jaclyn because of Calvin, up until now.

"Hey, you want honesty, I'll be honest. I saw your sister naked. She gave me a blow job. That was it. The only reason I took her to my room was because she reminded me of you. And the whole time my thought was that she wasn't nearly as perfect."

Jamie pushed at his chest, and he wisely stepped back. "I think you should leave," she instructed.

"Jamie, what is it?" He caught her hands again, stooping his neck to look her in the eye. The caring expression was enough to sting. "Should I have told you I met your sister and played Monopoly with her?"

"Of course not."

"Then what, babe? The last time I saw you before you went in the hospital you were in my arms, soft and sweet as hell, enough to kill me. I finally had my hands in this gorgeous hair and I was sure I was in heaven. Is it just the pain right now? You want me out of here to give you peace or what? I'll fuck off, just tell me why."

Maybe she could use the practice explaining what was wrong with her.

"You know these breasts you were so in love with?" He just blinked. "Well, they had to remove one. So you'll forgive me if I'm not in the mood to play house right now."

He took a deep breath, and to his credit he kept his eyes on hers. "Jesus, babe. I'm sorry. What can I do for you?"

She was incredulous. "Nothing," she snapped. "There's nothing _you _can do for me. You like my body? You like my hair? Well guess what. My body was just butchered and my hair's going to fall out, too. So I'm down to absolutely _nothing _on the pro side, all cons."

He tilted his head, lips tight. "Jamie, babe -"

"Don't," she said, pushing his hands away from hers and escaping his arms by side-stepping him. "Thank you for breakfast. Thank you for your help last night. Once Calvin and Thelma are here I'll be fine."

His hands were on his hips, face blank, but his eyes were … pitying. That was the worst part. She felt tears in her eyes as she begged, "Please, don't. Just … go."

He crossed the kitchen to leave but paused beside her, eyes on the floor and hands on his hips. When he spoke it was back to that cold, indifferent tone she'd forgotten that made ice slide down her back. But it was a good tone, until she absorbed what he said before leaving.

"You really think the _physical _is the best part of you, you've got your head wedged so bad it's a wonder you can breathe, sweetheart."

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome!**


	22. Chapter 21

He'd been pissed off and miserable for over a week. Okay, maybe Tig was usually pissed off and miserable. But now he had a reason and he didn't like the reason.

Concern. Worry. For a woman.

It was a weakness he'd hated in other men, and now he was suffering from the same stupidity.

To prove he was a complete sap, he was meeting with Oswald again to find out what the guy had learned the past week.

Oswald's office was nice, the kind of place where he wasn't sure he should sit on anything. So he stayed standing, and Oswald did the same.

"The house is owned by a landlord," Oswald told him something he already knew. "The landlord should be paying for necessary upkeep."

"I know, but he's a slumlord. And an asshole. And she's taking care of a kid and she's sick besides, man. She's got some cash to get the work done, that's not a worry. If it's not enough, which would surprise the shit out me, I'll cover the rest."

Oswald looked at him like _he _thought Tig was losing his mind, too.

"All right. So I have a mould remediation guy lined up. She has to be out of the house for that. Once everything is all stirred up it gets dangerous. Then I'm on the waiting list for a smaller crew I've worked with before, they do renos more than new construction. I trust them, they do good work."

Tig nodded, taking the two business cards. "So the mould guys are booked?"

"Day after tomorrow. When they're done call this contractor, he's got her name on a list right now. Tell them the house is ready for them, they can give you an idea when that will be. The important thing is to get rid of the mould. If it's dangerous, they need it gone soon."

"Right," Tig nodded, tucking the cards into an inside pocket of his kutte. "Thanks Oswald, I owe you one."

Maybe it was because he said that, but the guy must have felt some kind of _buddy_ vibe. "Who is this woman? A family member or ..?"

Tig wordlessly kept his eyes on Oswald's and eventually the well-dressed man that matched this office looked away. Their relationship was through SAMCRO handing him the man that had raped his young daughter, nothing else.

"Thanks again." Then Tig left the office, striding past the receptionist who visibly stiffened in her chair behind the desk, shrinking down to hide or something.

This visit to Oswald didn't erase the marker SAMCRO held over him. Tig asked for some names of people who could do a bathroom reno, Oswald took it from there. He didn't have to, but with the way buildings were going up around Charming it was hard to get on a list without an inside contact. And Oswald had his fingers in a few real estate development deals.

If _Oswald _was confused by this request, Tig was downright fucked up over it. He _never _went to bat for a woman like this outside of one of his brother's old ladies. The club would move heaven and earth for their women.

Jamie wasn't his. She'd made it very clear she had no interest in being _anything _with him.

He could see through her bullshit; all she had was that kid. And if being around women like Gemma Morrow taught him anything, it was that motherhood was nice but it couldn't be the end-all of a woman to have a kid and raise him. If that had been true Gemma would have become half the woman she was when her son Thomas died, and that wasn't what happened. At all. She may love her son and her grandson Abel, but that lady ran on a whole lot more than Mother's Day cards.

Jamie was no different, he could tell. He could accept it if she said he scared her or disgusted her. But she didn't say that, and he knew it wasn't the case. He was there after Calvin's birthday supper, he knew very well she was still a living, breathing_ woman_.

So why all this shit then?

He yanked his helmet on forcefully, fastening the chin strap. It was one thing to be able to knock the snot out of a guy that made her bleed, or entertain her nephew with more than textbook learning. It was being close to her, that's what he wanted. Probably because she kept pushing him away.

Gemma was right. He never did _anything _the easy way.

His neighbour was a fucking mess of complications. A kid. A sickness. A fucked-up self-image he would never come close to understanding. He didn't have tits. But he supposed breasts must be important to the female identity or some shit. Women paid to add plastic to them, perk them up, and bought whatever clothes made them look good. He had no fucking idea what a removed breast looked like. He'd never known anyone who went through chemo, either.

Point was he didn't _care. _He was hell-bent on his own mission to show her she was wrong not to let him in. There was something appealing about really, _really _having her all to himself. Nothing his brothers had already had a taste of. Nothing they ever _would _have a taste of because she wasn't like that.

It wasn't a scary thought; for Tig Trager, scary was better than a double-dog-dare.

He headed right home from Oswald's office, eyes scanning Jamie's place. Nothing was moving inside, her car was in the drive. From what he could tell through unabashed spying Aunt Thelma had stayed until the night before, leaving that very morning and not bringing Calvin with her. So the kid was home, Jamie was recuperating, and well enough for Thelma to cut out.

This was good news.

He parked his bike, yanked his keys from the ignition and started up to his front door when a sniffle caught him off guard. Calvin was on his stoop, his shirt ripped at the collar, dirtied up, blood at his nose and broken glasses clenched in his hands.

Tig had to blink for a moment, affirm that was what he was seeing, then take in the kid's face. He'd been crying, you could see the tracks down his cheeks. His hands were clenched tight, and he looked … fucking furious, actually.

Tig paused, scanning the area for a moment, but it was just the two of them. Calvin looked up at him and his lower lip quivered.

"Calvin, man. What happened?" He asked gently, not wanting to push or make the kid uncomfortable. He plopped his weight on a stair next to him, elbows on knees.

Calvin didn't answer.

"Are you hurt?"

Still silence.

Tig sighed, scratching his head. "At least tell me if I'm getting warmer or colder, buddy. How bad are you hurt?"

"Not bad," Calvin finally whimpered.

"Who did this?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know as you didn't recognize him or you don't know because you didn't _see_ him?"

"I didn't recognize them."

Tig's jaw cracked he bit down so hard. "Them?"

"These guys were across the street. Three of them."

Tig's hands tightened into fists. "What'd they look like?"

"They weren't as old as you or Aunt Jamie, but they were older than me. They were all in jeans and T-shirts. They had tattoos on their arms. I was just sitting here waiting for you."

Tig's vision flashed red and he rubbed his eyes to calm down. "Where's Aunt Jamie?"

"She's been sleeping. I didn't want to wake her up. Or scare her."

"Buddy, I'm so sorry. You sure you're not hurt?"

"They broke my glasses. On purpose. These are expensive, Tig."

Tig put his hand on the kid's narrow back, rubbing back and forth. "Hey, you don't have to worry about that kind of thing. We'll get you new glasses. As long as _you're _okay."

"No one's ever hit me in the face before."

Tig pulled his face around to him by the chin, and Calvin struggled a bit like he didn't want Tig to see him upset. Yet, he'd waited _here _for him.

"Calvin?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you good at remembering phone numbers?"

"Yeah."

Tig believed that. The kid was a breathing sponge. "I'm going to give you my cell number, okay? The next time you see these fucks, you head inside, head to the backyard, wherever you think you'll be safe, and call me. All right?"

Calvin nodded. "I didn't want them to know where I really lived. I'm sorry, Tig." His little face crumpled up first, then his body did the same thing and somehow he ended up tucked into Tig's side, under his arm, in a ball of knobby knees and skinny arms. Tig froze for a split second, then decided _fuck it_. He wrapped his arm around Calvin's shoulder, giving him a tight squeeze.

"You did the right thing, man. You did good."

"I'm scared to tell Aunt Jamie."

"I know, buddy. But she has to know. You know how much she loves you."

Calvin nodded. "She's going to be so worried. She won't let me out of the house."

Tig snorted at that. "You're probably right. Just make sure I'm here if you're out front, yeah?"

"Okay, Tig."

"Let's go tell Aunt Jamie. I'll stand right next to you, okay?"

After a slight hesitation Calvin nodded, getting to his feet. Tig did the same with a groan, and to his surprise Calvin took his hand as they walked down his driveway and up to Jamie's stoop.

Calvin opened the screen as Jamie swung the inner door open. "Calvin, why'd you let me sleep so long?"

Tig was struck mute for a second, mostly because he hadn't seen her in a week. And he'd fucking _missed_ her. Her hair was in a dishevelled ponytail, pillow creases on her cheeks, still in flannel pants and a sweatshirt and she looked absolutely … _cuddly._

Then Jamie saw Calvin's face. "Oh my God, what happened?"

Calvin's mouth, eyes and cheeks scrunched up again, so Tig played interpreter. "I came home and he was at my door. Said three kids roughed him up. He's mostly upset his glasses got broke, I don't think he's too terribly hurt."

Jamie heard his words but she knelt in front of Calvin, taking his face in her hands. "Peanut, why didn't you come tell me?"

Calvin swallowed, tears in his eyes. "They weren't just bullies, Aunt Jamie. They were _bad _guys. I didn't want them to know where you and I lived."

Jamie took a deep breath and hugged her nephew tight, eyes going up to Tig's. She was scared, seconds away from panicking.

"I told him to call me if he sees them again. He's gonna memorize my cell number."

She frowned. "I don't want trouble, Tig. I should be calling the police."

"Don't do that, sweetheart. Trust me, _that _will bring trouble."

"Tig -"

"Look, I'm already onto these guys. Have been for almost two weeks. Roughing up a kid is the least they could do. Honey, where you're living now, the cops only come to one out of three calls. We have a way of dealing with this kind of thing."

Her eyes never left his face, and when he was done talking he had to force himself to swallow. Christ, he'd actually _missed _her and been worried about her even more than he thought.

"Okay," she surprised him with. "Were these kids that did this?"

"No," Calvin whispered.

Before she could go off again Tig was talking. "They're about twenty, I'd say. Saw them the other night, knew what they were up to, and the club's looking into it."

"What are they _up to_?" she asked pointedly.

"I think they're dealing."

"And beating up nine-year-olds."

Tig had no answer, but he felt the anger rise again. "I'll make them pay for that."

Jamie held his eyes, and he realized he absolutely loved the way they flashed when she was pissed. "Make them hurt for this."

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome!**


	23. Chapter 22

Jamie stood staring at her reflection in the mirror of her en suite bathroom, just out of the shower. Her hair was stuck to her skin, wet and dripping. She shoved it back over her left shoulder, making herself stare at_ the scar_.

She'd done this every morning the past three days, once she'd felt like taking a shower wasn't going to do her any damage. She still wasn't up for shampooing her hair, she basically let it get wet, tied it up in a towel then knotted it on the back of her head once it was half-dry. She was making herself face the scars _and _get used to not doing her hair all at the same time.

The right breast had one tumour removed, and currently sported a small cut that needed only three stitches, on the outside swell. When she pressed her hand over it _she _could feel that something had been taken out, something was missing, but maybe over time the pocket left behind would fill.

The left was the horror show. She knew it looked awful right now, it was healing and red but the swelling had gone down. She had no signs of infection. But her chest was half-gone. Taking a deep breath she covered the sliced and stitched skin with one hand, looking herself in the eye. She was tearing up.

They'd give you pain killers, antibiotics and tell you to keep the site clean. But no one told you what to do when you were freaking out about losing a piece of your body.

She squeezed both eyes shut, reminding herself it had been just over a week now. She wasn't ready to accept it yet, but that didn't have to mean she wouldn't eventually.

And who knew? Maybe some rich bastard would fall in love with her, marry her and buy her a new boob. Why not?

There was a timid knock at the door, and she flicked the bathroom fan off to hear. "Yeah?" she asked, knowing it was Calvin.

"Aunt Jamie? Can you come out for a minute?"

"How come?" She cringed to think he might have spilled something terribly messy. She didn't have the energy to be cross.

"Ummm … Tig's here. He wants to talk to you."

"Fuck," she whispered, but shouted back, "Okay Peanut. Give me a minute."

She did the hair turban towel thing, dried off, dressed in a sweatshirt and flannel pants and decided that putting in an effort was going to send him the wrong idea. Better to see the reality and break his interest in her, assuming it even still existed.

She just hoped her edict for Tig to hurt the guys that pushed Calvin around didn't come across as a request of _her _friendship, but from Calvin's instead.

Tig was in her hallway, the condemned bathroom door open, light on, staring up at the ceiling while nodding. "Yeah, man. I see it. This is disgusting. We gotta take care of this. Go pack a bag for a few nights away from home, 'kay buddy?" Calvin was in the hall next to him, staring up at Tig and adjusting his taped-together glasses.

"What?" she asked, thinking she'd heard that wrong.

Tig brought his eyes down from the bathroom ceiling to her, and she wondered again at how impossibly blue they were. Then she reminded herself his eye colour mattered very little in the grand scheme of her life. "Mould remediation guys are here tomorrow, they'll tear all this shit out. Make sure it's done safe, so it doesn't get that shit all over the house."

Jamie's anger climbed slightly. "I didn't call a mould remedial – whatever you just said team."

"No, I had a friend do it. He builds houses, knows the right people. They're fitting your project in as a favour to him. Which is a favour to me, I guess."

"Which means somehow now I owe _you _for this," she finished.

He grinned. "I guess it does, babe. What a fucking shame."

"I can't leave the house. I can't afford to be in a hotel for a week while this gets done."

"More like three days. But don't worry about it. You and Calvin are staying at my house."

She sucked in a surprised breath. "We certainly are _not_."

He had the nerve to _laugh _at her. "Relax, babe. I'm not going to be there anyway. Tomorrow night I gotta do an overnight run, they'll likely be done by the time I get back. I'll stay at the clubhouse in the meantime. You won't even see me."

All logical, kind, and practical solutions. _Dammit_.

He could tell she was struggling to find an argument. "Don't worry. I hid the guns, knives, bodies, even the sex swing. The kid'll never find them."

She shot a panicked look to Calvin but he was gone, already packing, apparently.

"Listen, this is an incredibly generous offer, but -"

Tig stood very close to her, dropping his voice low enough for only her to hear. "If this shit growing in the walls is poison, that's kinda scary. The only reason I'm offering my place is so that this all feels like _no big deal_ to Calvin. He's still in this area, my house is almost exactly the same, the only thing it's missing is Aunt Jamie. And you're close enough to see what's going on over there without having to pack him up in a car and drive over here."

Tingles and a _colossal _belly-whoosh on that. Great.

"I … I don't know what to say."

"You say 'Thank you Tig, you're a gentleman and a kind soul. I wish more men were made like you. Also, you're a hell of a kisser and so fucking handsome I don't know how I'll live next to you without throwing myself at you every day.'"

He was laughing and she shoved his chest, breaking into a smile despite her need to keep distance from him. "Stop that," she muttered.

"What?"

"Being almost … charming."

"Honestly babe, I don't know _how _to turn it off."

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

"Come take a look at the house. If it freaks you out, stay anywhere you want. I just think this is easier."

"Okay," she agreed.

"And just keep an open mind about the sex swing, that's all I ask."

"Stop it," she repeated.

"Come on, take a look with me." He was staring at her so casually, his posture so relaxed she _wasn't _looking at the leather or the patches for once. She just saw the nice guy living next door.

"Okay," she relented, fighting the need to laugh anyway. "Lead the way."

Down her driveway, up his, hair still in a towel and her pyjamas on display but he didn't even seem to notice she was a walking slob. She'd been as far as his front door before, now he was opening it and ushering her in ahead of him.

It _was _the same as her place, just with a reversed layout. Whereas her living room was to the right of the entry, his veered left with the kitchen beyond. Bedrooms down the hall on the right. Even the flooring appeared to be the same, but his was … better cared for, actually.

Jamie didn't know what she'd been expecting, but it wasn't _this. _Sure, the furniture had been well-loved. There was no kind of decoration anywhere, which smacked of bachelor pad, but it was … clean. Tidy. Not a lot of _stuff _crammed into shelves or corners. Mail, newspapers, photos; nothing that gave any insight into the man standing behind her.

"So, this is the … sitting room." He shrugged. "Whatever the fuck you call it. Kitchen is at the back. _My _bathroom is not growing toxic shit, so you can take a bath if you prefer."

Jamie nearly cried at that. She _did _want to take a bath. Very much so.

He caught whatever her face did right then. "Hey, I know girls like their _baths_." He said it like it was ludicrous, which made her laugh and _not _cry. "I swear this place is clean, nothing crazy happens here. This really is the place I go when I want quiet, babe. And I've never had an overnight guest here, either." He raised his eyebrows so Jamie would catch his meaning.

She did. Loud and clear.

"Okay," she replied quickly, not needing him to spell it out.

"Two bedrooms. Just like your place. Spare room is just a fold-out sofa but the kid's young enough it won't break his back."

"I can't pay you back for this."

His face got serious, _very _serious in a way she didn't think she'd seen before. "Who said you had to, Jamie?"

She took a shuddering breath, not sure what his angle was, what he wanted or expected. And she knew he wouldn't say it now. It would come later. She knew this would cost her _something_. But she just nodded. "Okay. It's not like I have a lot of options."

"Don't give me that shit. I'm doing something nice. See it for what it is. Say thank you."

"Thank you," she whispered, surprised to be ashamed by her reaction. And the fact he just spoke to her like that. And he was right.

"Pack the stuff you want to bring here. I'll carry it over for you. If you want food in the fridge, let me know and I'll -"

"No, no," she cut him off. "Thelma stocked us up before she left."

"Okay." Head tilt in the general direction of her place. "Calvin can help me bring it over here."

He was still standing close. Still looking down on her like he had been this whole time, but when he wasn't talking it made her squirm. He had a limited concept of "personal space."

"How are _you _doing?" he asked eventually, voice close and comfortable. Concerned.

"I'm … I'm okay. It doesn't hurt as much anymore."

"And how are _you _doing, Jamie? I know it's only been a week but … you were pretty upset."

An angry snap-back was on the tip of her tongue, but the soft expression on his face and all the ways he'd been helping her made her stop. "I'm going to be okay. I need to get used to it. I didn't know it was going to be so drastic. They made that decision in the operating room. I only found out when I woke up."

He reared back a bit on a softly hissed "Jesus." It made tears spring up in her eyes again. "Jamie, I'm sorry."

Initially she'd hoped the revelation of her surgery would be too much information, too fast, making him back off. But he was invested, for whatever reason, and now _she_ was the one that didn't know how the hell to handle it.

"Hey," he whispered as her face crumpled, pulling her against his chest and into his arms. "It's all right, babe. You get through this, you're gonna have a beautiful life, I know it."

Tig's words, however sweet they might have been, barely registered because she was crying so hard. His hands rubbed her back in comforting circles, so much so it wasn't even unpleasant to have her face mashed against his leather.

"Ahem. Maybe I should … come back another time?"

She felt Tig's entire body stiffen, and she took the chance to pull away, wiping her eyes and looking up at him. His face had gone slightly arctic, and she stepped out of his embrace at the sight of it. Sniffling, she turned to face whoever was standing at the open front door.

It was no one she recognized, but the leather vest he wore was certainly familiar. He wasn't tall but seemed imposing anyway, maybe it was his solid, stocky build. Maybe the steely gaze he had on her. Maybe it was because he was grinning at her like he was considering eating her for lunch. It wasn't a happy grin, it was a slightly terrifying grin. Then he turned that grin on Tig.

"Well introduce me, Tigger."

Tig cast his eyes her way, looking indifferent again. "Clay, this is my neighbour Jamie. Jamie, this is Clay. He's president of the Sons of Anarchy MC."

"Oh," she said, manners kicking her voice into a false-friendly gear. "Nice to meet you."

Clay came forward at that, frowning almost comically. "I _know _that's a lie. But it's sweet of you to say."

His hand mauled hers when he shook it, and his touch seemed _wrong_. She didn't know what it was but he instantly had her uneasy. Not realizing it, she edged away from him, closer to Tig. Clay's beady eyes caught the movement, and something shifted in his face and his gaze swung up to Tig.

"I can see why you're keeping this piece secret."

"Ain't like that, Clay. She's my neighbour."

"This the neighbour you punched out a civilian for?"

Jamie held her breath because something in the way he asked it implied a threat somehow. Jamie guessed Clay didn't like Tig punching people randomly.

"Don't deny it," Clay went on. "I heard about it. You think you can keep that kind of shit from me?" His eyes came back to Jamie. "Don't worry. I ain't mad. I feel you, brother."

Jamie held the eye contact until Clay slid his sunglasses on.

"We're leaving soon. Get ready."

"Give me twenty minutes," Tig requested.

"Twenty huh?" Clay looked her up and down. "Doesn't seem like long enough."

Tig laughed, moving in front of Jamie now. "I told you it ain't like that."

"All right, all right. Twenty minutes and then we're rolling."

"I'll be there."

Not a word was said as he left, but Tig turned back to her. "Sorry about that. He wants to make sure you're not … well, the kind of broad that steals my wallet."

Jamie nodded. "I understand. I guess."

"Go get your stuff packed, Calvin and I will load up the kitchen. Then I'll bring your shit here. Yeah?"

"Okay." She caught him by the elbow. "Are you in trouble? For hitting Clark?"

Tig gave her that wild smile then kissed her forehead, catching her totally off guard. "Nah, babe. Takes more than that to get _me _in trouble."

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome!**


	24. Chapter 23

Tig waited for Clay to razz him about Jamie in front of the guys, but the prez said _nothing_.

That was the first thing that made him nervous.

The second thing that made him nervous? No one seemed to know who Tiny was.

The guy was a complete ghost - he'd avoided everyone's radar. Clay arranged to meet with Darby and the Nords at first, thinking it was them, only to find out for certain it _wasn't_. Darby was pissed he had someone on his turf putting his customers in the hospital. Clay tersely reminded the fucker that it _wasn't_ his turf, so of course they agreed to disagree on that for the time being.

Now SAMCRO was hitting the highway for Oakland, hoping LaRoy and the One-Niners had any information to shed on the problem.

Clay had called in Nomad back-up again, since they were stepping out of SAMCRO's own territory for a spell. Quinn had set them up with Happy, Donut, and Bowie. As Clay, Tig, Bobby and Chibs had pulled up at the planned meeting spot; another shit-hole roadhouse, they saw their brother's bikes already in the lot.

"Shit," Bobby muttered. "They're not going to want to leave. I bet they're already balls deep."

"I don't have a problem with staying for some hospitality," Clay drawled, unfastening his helmet. "Anyone else have any reason to play it celibate tonight?" He turned his fucking smart eyes on Tig. "Tigger? You got somewhere else you'd rather be?"

Tig didn't know what was up his president's ass, and it wasn't in his nature to worry about it. As long as he did what he was told he knew his place in the club and the function he served. "Me?" he scoffed, hanging his helmet off his handlebars. "Are you kidding?"

At Clay's question all of the SAMCRO members on this run had paused to look at him. Tig felt his skin shrink just a bit. "What?" he snapped.

"Heard you gave a lass your high school ring," Chibs quipped, the Scot's smart-ass tone chaffing Tig as much as his smirk. "You got to third base there yet, Tiggy? Can I smell your fingers?"

As the crowd cut up around him his shook his head and got off the bike. "Fuck all of you," he said, smiling right along with them but kind of wanting to punch the prick all the same.

A roadhouse like this one was basically an MC clubhouse without a club in residence. The same shit went here as it was in any clubhouse, except here you had to pay for your booze. Feeling Clay still eyeing him up, Tig's eyes trolled the room for offered distractions. Just to shut everyone up.

"Red," he snapped, catching a tall, dark-skinned fake redhead as she was passing by. She turned on a platform heel, hand on her hip which was jutted to the side.

"Something I can do for you, handsome?"

Getting close, he cast his eyes down her lean shape, then back up to her face. She was pretty, he decided. She'd do. "You lonely?"

She tilted her head with a smile. "I am a little lonely, tonight."

"You working?"

"Nah, sweetheart. I'm here for my own recreation."

He nodded, taking her hand. "You ain't lonely anymore."

All day he'd only been thinking about Jamie, crying her heart out and letting him hug her while she did it. He had been trying not to focus on how she physically felt, but he_ had _noticed something missing. It didn't freak him out; his only worry was that _she _would change her mind about having him that close.

But for that moment she'd just stayed there, letting him wrap his arms around her like that. She was all warm from her shower, smelling great. He'd love to see her that way every fucking possible morning, if he could. No make-up, hair in a towel as evidence she'd just been naked in the shower. Nothing done to impress or attract attention, only beautiful because _she _was beautiful without extra effort.

Not like the woman bent over the sink in front of him. Her hair was nice, not authentic. Her nails felt good when she scratched them under his shirt across his chest, but they were plastic. Her face was pretty but under the lights of the bathroom he could tell it was the effect of many layers of make-up. Even her eyelashes were after-market.

He didn't even bother with the breasts. She hiked her skirt up, assumed the position against the sink after a quick clinch, and he was barely aware how he ended up inside her.

All because he'd done this a million fucking times and it was all the same. He didn't want _the same_. He wanted Jamie.

The woman he _was _with was making sounds, and as he realized he'd been thinking about his neighbour he felt her body clench around him, holding him inside while she trembled. It was real enough to take him with her, and he grunted once, hard, one hand tight in her hair, the other on her lower back. Her eyes were all soft and happy as she caught his reflection in the mirror, and he cursed himself out.

Even _thinking _about Jamie he'd gotten all Casanova on his roadhouse slut. And apparently it was quite effective.

"Sugar," she moaned. "I don't know who you were thinking about just then, but she's a lucky woman."

It was like a fist to the gut, to be found out that easily by some slut who'd known him for all of ten minutes. And more than frightening that he was _that _fucking transparent around his brothers.

No wonder Clay'd been giving him the sideways-eyeball all day.

He couldn't even get angry with this piece. He just pulled out, slapped her hip with a "Thanks doll," and set to cleaning himself up while she shimmied her skirt back over her hips and left the washroom.

It hadn't been great for him, just a release he hadn't even wanted in the first place. May as well have just jerked off in the sink.

He found his brothers at a table. He fell into a chair next to Clay, exhaling loudly. His prez turned to him and gave him a long hard look. Tig frowned. "The fuck, man?"

"Making sure you're okay. Don't tell the old lady about that bathroom tryst, yeah? They don't like that."

"A lot," Bobby testified further. "Like, skateboard-to-a-bitch's face, not a lot."

That made the crew laugh, a reminder how Gemma handled the sight of one of Clay's sidepieces coming to Charming.

Tig just squinted back at his prez, not joining in the quorum. "That's funny. You calling _anyone_ pussy-whipped."

The silence was tight and sharp at the table. He knew that was uncalled for. He loved Gemma to death first and foremost, and there was no way implying your president and long-time friend was pussy-whipped fell under the "good idea" category. But it would also get everyone off his fucking back.

He was going to kill Happy for the trouble his big fucking mouth was causing.

"Easy Tigger," Chibs called from across the table.

Clay's eyes were pinned on his own, but Tig never looking away first. His own hard-headed stupidity was far more powerful than his common sense, and he wouldn't let these assholes think Jamie was … what? Less than she was? Worthy of their lowly talk and subsequent dismissal?

As in, a woman he'd actually _deserve_?

Whatever. _This _was exactly the reason he hadn't wanted his brothers to know about her.

"You bringing my old lady into this discussion?" Clay wanted it clarified.

"Never," he answered evenly, not blinking. Message sent.

Clay nodded once, his jaw set hard. Message delivered.

Tig ignored the raised eyebrows around the table, but he _did_ catch Happy's crazy fucking grin before he downed the shot in front of him. Tig was going to make that bastard sorry.

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome!**


	25. Chapter 24

**Mid-August **

"Now Jamie, I want you to just relax. Make sure you're comfortable."

"Does it hurt?" Jamie whimpered, and she hated sounding so scared but it was just her and Doctor Foster at the moment.

"No. It's not going to hurt. It might feel warm. You'll likely feel tired after. Your skin could get red, and if you get nauseous don't worry, that can happen, too. Just take some Gravol and you should be fine. "

She nodded, hands twisting at her hospital gown. "Why is this scarier than the surgery?"

Doctor Foster smiled down at her, his hand beside her head. She felt his thumb stroke her temple. "I'm right here with you, Jamie. Don't worry, okay?"

Jamie felt her heart trip just a little bit. She didn't know if any of this was appropriate, but she wasn't uncomfortable.

She was _very _comfortable with it, actually.

"Am I going to glow in the dark?"

"Maybe," he said in all seriousness.

She felt herself grin. "That'll make it hard to sleep."

"I'll get you one of those masks for your eyes. You'll be fine."

She appreciated him wanting to make her laugh. "Sounds good."

"All right. Let's get this over with, yeah?"

She nodded, forced her hands to stop fidgeting. Doctor Foster had been so careful in explaining everything to her during her lead-up visits to the radiation therapy. When he decided she was healthy enough he eased her into the next step, told her how it was going to happen and how it all worked.

Jamie was still terrified. They were aiming a beam of radiation at her good breast and her lymph nodes. That was scary. That was so, _so _scary.

The machinery was loud. And it didn't matter where Doctor Foster was. She was alone inside it.

Jamie kept her eyes closed, willing her body to keep still. She could hear the noises around her, the instructions to hold her arm this way and then keep still. She was on a "robotic" setting, her brain done for the time being.

This was medicine. This was going to make her better.

When the treatment was done Jamie was left alone to get dressed again. With growing acceptance she picked up the specialty brassiere that Aunt Thelma helped her pick out. One side was a regular bra cup, the other completely padded to match the size of the regular cup. She was comfortable wearing more form-fitting clothes with it, like the T-shirt she'd paired up with denim shorts that day. She was still extra nervous that the padded cup could slide up and go wonky, but it hadn't happened yet.

As she was buttoning up her shorts Aunt Thelma was knocking on the door. "Come in," Jamie called out, sitting back on the vinyl-covered bench to catch her breath.

Aunt Thelma looked nervous. She was giving her "everything's going to be all right" smile but Jamie was … too exhausted for that.

"Hey honey. How'd it go?"

Jamie shrugged as she shoved her feet into her flip flops. "I don't know. No point of reference, really. I kind of feel like I've been put through the microwave for a while. I feel warm, in a weird way. Tired, but that's nothing new."

Aunt Thelma nodded, trying to be of comfort but knowing that anything she said likely wouldn't help too much.

Jamie had the overwhelming urge to assure _Aunt Thelma_ that everything was okay, which was kind of a crazy concept. _She _was the sick one. Why did she need to make anyone else feel better?

"Did you want to go for lunch, or would you rather just go home?"

Jamie was already shaking her head. "I need to sleep. You and Calvin go for lunch without me."

"Okay, honey. Let's get you home."

Jamie was silent on the drive, and as she got out of the vehicle in the driveway she heard the back door of the car open, too. Calvin was going to ride shotgun with Aunt Thelma, but before he climbed back in he wrapped both arms around Jamie's waist and hugged her tight.

Jamie bit her lip, put her hands on his head, and kissed his hair, tears stinging her eyes. "Oh Peanut," she whispered. "I love you, honey."

"I love you too," he replied, muffled by her stomach. She hated herself right then for holding a one-person pity party. She _was _lucky, after all. She had Calvin.

"We're gonna be fine," she assured him, ruffling his hair.

"Okay," he muttered back, then darted into the passenger seat, wiping his eyes.

She was scaring Calvin. That wasn't good. Jamie should have _known _he'd pick up on the nuances of her moods. She was cranky, tired all the time, her temper was getting shorter. He was spending more and more time with Tig. He probably blamed himself for her shitty attitude.

When she turned to her house and started up the stoop her eyes went to the neighbour's place, now dark and silent. The three days they'd spent there while her bathroom was demolished had passed without incident. As promised, they never saw him during their stay. The bathroom was removed over the course of three days, everything barricaded with heavy plastic and carried out in equally sturdy trash bags. The tests on the mould itself had come back as non-toxic, but they were assured that _any _mould was not good for people to be around.

Staying in the Tig museum hadn't even seemed weird – there was nothing in the place that was _him_. Not a trace of his personality or interests could be found. Not that she was actively _snooping_. She left the vanity in the bathroom off the master closed. Ditto for the nightstands and the basement. And the hall closet. They _did _have to go back home for dishes and cutlery (Jamie had been shocked to find just three dessert saucers and four dinner plates all on their own in his kitchen cupboard) but other than that it was a lot like being at home.

Once it was all-clear to move back they did. The bathroom was down to subfloor and wall studs, roughed-in plumbing and a capped sewer line. Even if the bathroom _never _got replaced she felt better for having that shit gone.

Tig showed up later that same day and Jamie gave him his keys back. She explained she'd cleaned both bathrooms, the bedding and the towels but he wasn't too worried, just asked Calvin if he was ready to put a motor together. Calvin had spent every possible hour with Tig since then. Jamie was starting to feel … left out, actually.

Calvin had been _her _buddy at one time.

Jamie sleepily made her way down the hall to the bedroom, about to take off her bra and shorts and crawl into bed when her doorbell rang.

She blew out a breath of annoyance, the walk _back _to the entrance seeming three times as long now. She pulled the door open slowly, only easing it all the way when she saw it was a woman.

A woman she didn't know. A woman who seemed even taller than she was naturally, not because of the spiked heels on her boots but because of the way she held herself. Shoulders back, chin up, arms crossed under her breasts, hip jutting out to the side. Dressed in perfectly fitting jeans and a tank top that stretched tight across the killer chest that her arms were propping up, a scar visible between her breasts despite the necklaces she had hanging there.

Her body was incredible, and Jamie was only starting to notice that about other women because she was so conscious of her own suddenly.

Jamie felt her posture weaken, her shoulders rolling in just from the sight of this woman who basically had "biker bitch" tattooed on her forehead. Everything about her screamed self-assurance.

"Can I help you?" Jamie asked, on the verge of yawning.

The woman had been ready to verbally respond but that stopped and she paused, mid-thought, eyeing Jamie up and down. Something seemed to surprise her. Then she shook her head. "Sorry, I just realized I don't even know your name."

Now Jamie was a bit off guard. "Well, I haven't given it to you yet."

That got her a raised eyebrow. "I'm Gemma."

"Hi Gemma. I'm Jamie."

Gemma nodded, then thrust a hand at her. Jamie shook it, still unsure what the hell was going on here.

"You're not what I was expecting," Gemma mused, giving her some more surveillance.

"I'm sorry, should I know you?"

Gemma shook her impressive mane of hair back over her shoulders. "No, not at all. I'm a friend of Tig's."

Jamie felt a peculiar tremor in her chest. Of course this woman would be a friend of Tig's. She looked the type that could not only get a man like that, but keep him enthralled for ages to come. Jamie felt even uglier, and again more confused than ever.

"Okay," Jamie filled the silence. What was this woman doing here?

"Can I come in?" Gemma's face and tone implied she thought Jamie might be a bit _slow_.

Jamie was really taken aback now. "I'm sorry, I don't know you -"

"Look, I'm a good friend of Tig's. I look out for him. And when there's some piece of tail getting him all tied up in knots, I need to look that bitch in the eye and determine what she wants from him. So. Can. I. Come. In?"

Jamie felt her jealousy and self-deprecation fade. "I'm not in the habit of letting strange, rude people in my house. So … no, you can't."

Gemma dropped her arms, mouth open, head still to the side. Then she gave just a ghost of a smile. "Well. Pussy's got a bit of claw after all."

"What?"

"You wanna fuck him, have at 'im honey. But don't play games with him, and know that the fucking is all you're going to get."

The anger was the biggest emotion, but horror, mortification and embarrassment all rushed up to join in, too. Her face flushed, her heart started hammering faster, and she got …

Sick.

Jamie felt the heave shake her torso, then she became very still to see if that was the end of it. Gemma's head jerked back like she knew something distressing was going on, holding up a hand carefully. "Are you -"

But Jamie turned on her heel and raced down the hall to the en suite washroom, getting the toilet seat up just in time to completely empty her stomach of the oatmeal she'd had that morning. Her back bowed with it, and even when she was empty it was like she couldn't stop retching. It kept going until her ribs got too tired to keep it up.

She closed the lid, put her hand up to flush, and rested her forehead on the closed seat, taking a deep breath.

Jamie jumped two feet when a hand was placed between her shoulder blades. "Sweetheart, you okay?"

She looked up, confused as to how this woman thought it was okay to follow her into her house and watch her throw up. She didn't have the energy to yell at her, though. She just started crying instead.

There was a long awkward pause, then this Gemma woman squatted next to her. "Honey, you got anything for nausea?"

She nodded. "Gravol. In the medicine cabinet."

They were chewable ginger tablets. Gemma held out the bubble packing, popping two into Jamie's waiting hand. She chewed it, the taste not mixing well with what was in her mouth, but she got it down and closed her eyes to wait for her stomach to stop rolling.

"What is this from?" Gemma asked, voice soft, concerned and downright _motherly_. "Is it just the flu or … something else? You knocked up honey?"

That gave her a reason to laugh. "Radiation therapy," Jamie croaked. "I'm being treated for breast cancer."

Another pause. "Did they get it in time?"

Jamie shook her head. "I've had a lumpectomy on my right breast, mastectomy on the left."

Gemma inhaled with a "_Jesus Christ_" that wasn't for Jamie, she'd bet on it. "Are you the same neighbour that was cleaning houses?"

Jamie's brain wondered how she knew this, why Tig would tell her that, yet the rest of her was too tired to care. "Yeah, I had to earn extra money to take time off work."

"Well shit," Gemma went on as though she was disappointed about something. "Come on honey, let's get you somewhere more comfortable."

Jamie let herself be helped up, and she leaned on Gemma while the taller woman led her to her bed. As Jamie rolled onto her side she caught how Gemma was looking at all the pill bottles on her nightstand. The woman placed the package of Gravol closest to Jamie, smiling down on her.

"We got off on the wrong foot." Jamie suspected that was as close as Gemma came to an apology.

Jamie had to half-chuckle. "You think?"

"Tig can be too trusting. People can take advantage of that."

Jamie couldn't imagine _anyone _daring to trick the man that lived next door; not because he was so clever, just because you'd be in for so much hurt once he figured out what you did. But she kept that to herself.

"He's been keeping quiet about the two of you."

"Gemma," Jamie stopped her there. "There is no _me _and _Tig._ He's my neighbour. Yes, he's been very kind to me. I have no idea why." Gemma scoffed but Jamie kept talking. "He's taken a shine to my nephew for some reason. And he'd doing Calvin a world of good, for which I am indebted to him. So if you're worried I'm out to get him in some way … _don't _worry. I'd rather amputate my foot than take advantage of him."

Gemma brushed her hair off her forehead in a comforting gesture. "That's a real good answer, sweetheart. But as far as they're being no _you _and _Tig_, you might want to re-examine that."

Then the woman turned and left, a cloud of confusion and exhaustion in her wake.

* * *

**Comments and reviews, as always, are welcome and appreciated.**


	26. Chapter 25

Two days of riding, still no idea who Tiny was, and Tig just wanted his shower and his bed.

Yep, he was definitely getting older.

Leaving church he was half asleep on his feet heading for his Dyna when Gemma's voice came to him. "Tigger!"

He half-turned, digging a cigarette out his pocket. She was standing outside the TM office, waving him over. He lit a smoke and then answered her call, same as anyone else would if they wanted to keep their knee caps in working order.

"Gemma," he greeted her cordially. "Looking good today, doll."

She gave him her _no bullshit_ face and snapped, "Inside. _Now._"

Eyebrows high, he followed her into the office, shutting the door. He was turning around with a smart-ass comment on his lips but she hit him in the arm before he could get it out.

He side-stepped the second shot, overplaying the violence by a mile. "Oww! Gemma, what the hell?"

"What do you think you're doing?" she snapped, clearly pissed off.

"Can you fill me in on what the hell you're talking about?"

She took a deep breath, hands on hips. "Oswald's office called, saying your bathroom is on the list for next week. Asked me to give you the message, then they confirmed your address. But it _wasn't _your address, it was the address for your pop-tart neighbour." Then she wound up and pounded his bicep one more time.

Tig rubbed his upper arm, confused. "Why are you hitting me, Gem?"

"I went by her house."

Tig felt his stomach drop like he'd been caught in a lie. But he hadn't done anything wrong … that he could think of, anyway.

"Tig, she's sick," Gemma's voice got soft, and her eyes had a strange compassion in them. "You never said she had cancer."

"How is that anyone's business?" he replied, and she had the grace to look a bit embarrassed.

"What are you doing with her, Tig?"

He straightened his back. "Nothing, Gemma. She made it clear she's not interested like _that_."

"Then why are contractors calling _you _about her bathroom?"

He took a deep breath. "She needs help. She's sick. No one's helping her and I can."

Gemma gave him a soft look, shaking her head. "Oh, Tigger."

He had to shake his head, close his eyes. He was busted. "Yeah, I like her. You saw her, she's beautiful Gem. And she … I don't know . I like how it feels to be around her. I can help her."

"You like that she needs you," Gemma filled in.

Tig lowered his head.

"She's too tough to _need_ you, honey."

Now he frowned.

Gemma smiled in reply. "A woman should _want_ you, Tig. The needy ones are trouble."

"You gonna bust my balls about this?"

"Not at all, honey. I went over there to see if the bitch had alternate motives to getting her claws in you. I was pretty sure something _untoward_ was going on. Then I met her. And got pissed on behalf of the sisterhood because I thought _you _were taking advantage of her."

Tig snorted. "How? You think I got a kink for surgery scars?"

Gemma put her hands to each side of his face. "This is one you've gotta handle with care, babe."

"I know that. But I can't … I can't ignore her. I try. I can't."

"She's going through a lot."

"I can't even imagine it."

"Just … make her feel pretty, Tig. Make her laugh. I know you can do that."

"She's got a lot of walls up."

"Be sweet and watch those walls come down."

Tig had to smile, remembering her reaction to him making her breakfast. "Did you see the kid while you were there?"

"No, he wasn't there. Good thing, too."

"Why? What'd you do Gemma?"

She was smiling indulgently. "Nothing, Tig. But she's had radiation treatments, and she got pretty sick. I left her in bed with Gravol."

"She was sick? From that?"

Gemma shrugged. "I guess. I don't know anyone who's had radiation."

"Shit." Full-on panic hit, and he didn't even take a moment to keep it in check. In front of _Gemma_ yet. Yeah, he must be pretty fucking tired.

"Okay, settle down. She's fine. She needs rest. And she doesn't want you to see her like this, babe."

"Then I gotta be there when Calvin gets home."

Gemma was still smiling, furrowing her brow. "Shit. You're so far gone for the both of them, aren't you?"

He shrugged and backed away, forcing a laugh he didn't feel. "Come on, Gemma."

"Tig, honey, take this seriously and don't shrug it off, not with me. That little chippie lets you in, that's a big deal. And you _can't _just hit and run her, you _know _that."

"I know, Gem. I _know._"

"You haven't even slept with her, have you?"

He just clenched his jaw.

"I'm sorry, Tig. I didn't know this was serious. Clay said he caught you hugging her and -"

"And that's it. It was hug. The best I got so far is a kiss, Gem."

Gemma pressed her lips together, still looking worried about him. Tig was starting to feel like a caged animal. He loved Gem, but the chick-chat was starting to make him itchy.

"I know you're worried, Gem. And thank you. But I don't want this to be a big deal. I don't want any of these assholes knowing because they might scare her off. She's not … she's not in the life, Gem."

"But you want her in yours, Tiggy."

"That's why I'm going gentle."

Gemma went up on her toes to kiss his forehead. "Don't want you to get hurt, Tig."

"Thanks doll," he said instead of arguing. "I gotta get home and shower. I've got the engine put together and the kid's pretty excited to get it running."

"Okay. Go get some rest, too."

"I will." Tig kissed her cheek and left her in the office, jogging across the compound to his bike. He made his own personal best time getting back to his driveway, yanking the garage open before heading for his front door. As he did he heard squealing tires across the street again, and he stopped to watch the same three fucking punks make another fucking deal on his street.

Phone out again, he sent a text to Clay. _Dealers are back and they're here right now_.

Then Tig waited. It was a hell of an accomplishment, especially as he was reminding himself that these were the pricks that likely roughed up a nine-year-old.

His phone chirped and he checked the screen. _On our way. Stand down._ He snapped the phone shut and shoved it in his pocket, opening his front door and heading for the kitchen to grab a beer. He barely had the cap off when there was a banging on the screen door.

Smiling, he knew it had to be Calvin. He tipped the bottle back and made for the door, grin broadening as the kid saw him and smiled back.

"How was your trip?" The kid's manners were absolutely impeccable.

"It was a productive and uneventful outing, thank you," he found himself replying, pushing the door open. "But the best part is, that engine's ready to hum, buddy."

"Is it?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely. You ready?"

"Yes!" Calvin tore down the steps and careened into the garage, stopping short at the doorway.

Tig was right behind him, but seeing the scrawny prick standing in his garage wiped the smile right off his face.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Tig snapped, not missing how Calvin edged into his side when he spoke.

"Is this a '56?"

"54," Tig corrected. "We caught up now? Good. Get the fuck off my property."

The kid had the gall to laugh. "Dude, I'm just appreciating the bike."

"Get out," Tig repeated, still not sounding all too terribly angry. Inside he was a rolling rage but for now he'd let the pipsqueak wonder what exactly he was capable of.

"You might have noticed us across from your house," the kid said, leaning on the standing tool chest Tig had as the only real flat surface in the entire garage.

"I noticed that. Good of your to bring it up. I think that should probably stop before you get hurt."

The kid laughed, eyes going down to Calvin. "You're bodyguard's a pussy, dude. Cried like a girl."

Tig stalked forward, tossing the beer bottle to the corner of the garage. It smashed. The fucker jumped. Tig smiled.

"I can see you're a bit slow, so I'll use an educational aide this one time," Tig muttered, picking up his crescent wrench from the tool box next to the kids' elbow. "This town does not belong to ass-wipe shitheads that get off on beating up little kids." Tig said amiably. "Calvin," he added calmly, "go next door, okay?"

The kid took off running down the driveway around the fence, then back up his own without another glance. Not that Tig let his gaze leave the shithead in front of him; they were in a lock-down glare.

"I'll give you one warning," Tig offered, then swung the wrench and caught the kid's temple with it. He fell to the side, and Tig circled around, shrugging off his kutte and setting it on the tool chest.

"Here's a chance to get up and walk away, take those pricks out there with you," Tig offered. The kid tried to get up and charge him, which got him another crack to the cheekbone. Fuck, if the kid didn't smarten up this could very well get him killed.

Too late. Footsteps were rushing up his driveway, and Tig brought his head up just in time to face the guy's two friends, one holding a tire iron and the other clutching a bike chain.

Jesus Christ, kids needed to watch less TV these days.

"We don't let dealers in Charming," Tig informed the late guests to the party. "Be smart. Keep breathing. And get the fuck out of town."

Before he could reach into his waistband for his piece, the other two rushed him. Little fuckers were fast, and as he went down to one knee with a couple punches.

On a swing he saw coming just in time, Tig caught the bike chain with his hand, pulling it away from the kid's grip, knowing it probably tore his hand up even more the initial flash of pain he felt, but it was a fight and it wouldn't really hurt until later. As the kid stumbled Tig connected with a right hook, the bike chain now basically an accidental brass knuckle. That prick went _down_.

Tig got to his feet, the third guy still standing in attach posture with the crowbar in hand. He looked a bit tougher, granted. But Tig could hear approaching Harley pipes, so he knew he was minutes away from having back up.

The prick swung, and Tig raised his arm, the crowbar glancing off his forearm. It hurt like a bitch but better that than his head.

The guy looked at the crowbar, then back to the man in black who was now advancing with a smile lighting up his face. Tig knew he looked nuts, it was enough to make the guy second-guess his next move.

Long enough for Tig to notice Jamie standing in the driveway, just before she brought her arms up and clocked the third skinhead across the back of the skull with a wooden bat.

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome!**


	27. Chapter 26

The sound of an ash wood bat hitting a human skull was … sickening, to say the least.

Jamie dropped the bat, arms still ringing from the vibration of that contact, her hands suddenly shaking. She looked up at Tig, standing at the mouth of his garage with a wrench in one hand and a chain wrapped around the other one. He was bleeding from his lip and a cut eyebrow. The eyebrow was _really _bleeding, actually.

"You're … bleeding," she blurted stupidly, heart starting to calm down, adrenalin beginning to ebb away. She was tired again, realizing she'd been asleep when Calvin jumped on her bed, freaking out about Tig getting beat up by three guys in his garage.

She didn't call the police. She told Calvin to hide and crept up on them with a bat. _Was she absolutely fucking insane?_

The guy behind Tig started getting up, and with one shot from the chain-wrapped hand Tig dropped him back to the concrete. Then he looked at her again, seemed to wake up and held his hands out to the side.

"Jamie? What the hell were you thinking?"

She shook her head. "I wasn't. Calvin said you needed help, you said to never call the police. I only have a bat in the house."

He sighed, dropped the chain, showing that hand to also be bleeding. He set the wrench on his toolbox as the sound of bikes grew deafening behind her. Turning, she saw five Harleys pull into the driveway.

She turned back to Tig, panicking now. "Shit, what have I done?" she whispered.

Tig approached her, hands up, palms facing her. "Don't worry, sweetheart. You did real good." He crouched down, picked up the bat, handed it to her and put a hand on her shoulder. "Go back to your place, Jamie. Rest up, okay?"

She nodded, bat clutched tightly with both hands. "I'm sorry," she muttered.

"Don't be sorry. Nothing to be sorry for. You did good. Go home and get some rest, okay? I'll check on you in a bit."

She nodded, finding it odd that he escorted her down the drive to the point where that ineffectual fence ended, past his … _friends_? _Colleagues? _Like he was protecting her from them.

Every one of these five men were wearing vests like Tig's, but their expressions were all varied. Jamie recognized the man who'd caught her in Tig's arms in his living room. He was still sitting on his bike, grinning at her unnervingly. The one with the dark eyes and unreadable smile she'd first seen the day she discovered Tig was her neighbour was _also _staring at her, sliding his sunglasses off and not making any effort to hide his surveillance. One older fellow with a grizzled beard was just stroking his facial hair, studying her like a science experiment. A very young, baby-faced guy looked minutes away from laughing, eyebrows high from surprise, but it seemed he was more amused by Tig than her. The fifth kept his sunglasses on, chewing the inside of his lips, making scars on each cheek very evident. His look was the most blank and indifferent.

Behind her, she vaguely caught Tig instructing his friends to "Get those assholes out of sight in the garage."

Jamie cast her eyes away as the scary biker bad asses all seemed to dismount their bikes at once. She allowed Tig to lead her up the stoop to her own house, hand warm on the centre of her back. She wasn't an invalid for Pete's sake, but that touch was incredibly reassuring anyway.

Wait, she _was _an invalid. Her body reminded her of that, and why she had been napping in the first place. Her stomach rolled, and as soon as she kicked her shoes off at the door she had to run for the washroom, getting to the toilet just in time to let the remaining bile from her stomach evacuate.

It hurt. She had nothing to throw up.

"Aunt Jamie?"

She closed her eyes, resting her head on her arm. "I'm okay, Peanut. Please don't worry. The radiation made me sick, honey."

"Are you sure?" his tiny, concerned tone cut her.

She was opening her mouth to reply when another voice cut in, her humiliation reaching new levels of awareness.

"She's gonna be fine, Charlie. Do me a favour and give me a minute with Aunt Jamie?"

"Okay Tig," Calvin agreed as though that made him feel better. Then he vanished from the doorway of the en suite washroom. Jamie flushed the toilet immediately, getting to her feet and heading for the sink to rinse her mouth and splash water on her face.

Christ, he'd been right outside the room while she was puking? Wow, she was such a fucking catch.

He partially closed the door so the enclosed space was that much smaller. Hands on his hips, head hanging lower than usual he asked casually, "How you doing?"

She laughed at that. He was bleeding down the side of his face, dripping off his jaw, and he was asking how _she _was. "I'm fine," she said softly. "Are … are _you _okay?"

He frowned. "Me?"

She pointed to his head. "You're bleeding," she informed him for the second time.

He moved closer to her, checking out his reflection, crowding her without even touching her. That's when he noticed how chewed up his hand was, for the first time apparently. He seemed surprised by it. She could smell him again, leather and dust and heat from sunshine. Sweat. And the metallic tang of blood.

She was pinned between him, the vanity and the toilet. She stayed small, watching him inspect his eyebrow. "Shit," he was muttering, looking around and noticing this wasn't his washroom.

"Here," she said, opening the cabinet behind the mirror. She grabbed the cotton balls, rubbing alcohol and bandages. "You should wash your hands, too."

"No, Jamie. Go to bed. I'll fix this at my place."

"Wash your hands," she instructed. His eyes tracked the set of her jaw and the one eyebrow she had cocked, then he nodded. He soaped up his hands, hissing as the cuts from the bike chain were rinsed out, then took the hand towel from her and froze with it.

"I'll get blood on it."

"It's white. I can bleach the hell out of it."

He dutifully dried off, then moved to leave the bathroom. "Sit," she snapped, and something must have shown in her face because he did as asked, lowering the lid on the toilet and parking it. She wiped up the blood with the alcohol and cotton balls, then put a small adhesive bandage on the cut that split his eyebrow. "How's that?" she asked, realizing he had been absolutely silent the entire time.

Jamie cast her eyes down to his, and if the room had been big enough she would have taken a few steps back. She didn't know what his expression meant; it wasn't blank. It was the opposite. She couldn't tell if the set of his jaw meant he was angry or determined. The way his eyes lit off could either mean he wanted to hit her or … kiss her.

She did move away, suddenly. She was sick. She just threw up. She did _not _want to remember how incredibly wonderful he was at kissing. Or just plain touching her.

"Jamie," he said softly, catching her hand. "How are you? Really?"

"I'm fine," she replied, trying to pull her hand free. He gripped it tighter.

"Jamie," he baited her. "Gemma told me she came by. You're getting sick from this?"

"I'm being treated with radiation. It makes people sick."

He stood quickly, startling her, and she was almost out of room to back away. Just as quickly he picked her up in both arms, toed the bathroom door open and carried her back to her bedroom. He set her back on her bed, then threw the blanket over her again.

Jamie was stunned, unable to talk, almost unsure how she even ended up here again. He crouched on his heels next to the bed, reaching out and smoothing her hair back. It had the unsettling effect of being sweet, comforting, thrilling and a bit scary all at once.

"Get some rest. You need anything send Calvin over to see me, or have him call me."

"Okay," she agreed, already knowing she couldn't argue with him.

"I'll need him not at my place for a while," Tig went on ambiguously. "We need to take care of a few things. I'd feel better if he was inside the house."

Jamie closed her eyes, guessing what all that meant. She should probably be grateful she wasn't one of those three idiots that decided to pick a fight with her neighbour.

"Okay," she repeated, snuggling into her pillow. She watched his face as she did it, the lines between his eyebrows almost disappearing. He held her gaze, and she felt herself relax right then.

"You trust me to keep you safe?"

Her heart tripped over itself when he asked that. On a soft breath she answered without even thinking. "Yes, I do."

When he smiled it warmed his whole face, even those blue eyes.

"These are the guys that broke Calvin's glasses," he said softly. "I'll make them hurt, babe."

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome!**


	28. Chapter 27

"Oy, Tig. You all right?"

Tig was sitting on the edge of the open double-doors at the back of the van, hands throbbing. He looked up at Chibs, nodding. "Yeah. I'm good."

"Give him a moment to enjoy taking out the trash," Happy piped up.

"Thanks to the help of your absolutely lovely neighbour," Chibs added, lighting a cigarette while watching the prospect fill in the grave they'd just made in the California desert.

"Like the feisty ones," Happy threw out there, faking a big full-body shiver. "Give her something a little more effective than a bat though, man."

"She did just fine with that bat," Tig reminded him. Then he looked at his hands, his knuckles shredded. They felt warm and swollen. But overall it felt fucking fantastic to get a few licks in on the guys that roughed up Calvin.

"Might want to be careful with that one," Bobby advised. "Looks like she's kinda rough with wood."

Happy and Chibs laughed. He didn't. He was remembering teeth breaking off at the root and the spray of warm blood hitting his face. And the whole time he'd just kept seeing Calvin's quivering lip and ripped shirt.

"Were they talking shit about her?" Chibs asked quietly, crouched next to him in the back of the van. "Haven't seen you that pissed off in a while."

"Nah. They roughed up the kid a few days ago. Broke his glasses, scared him pretty good."

"Fucking assholes," Happy declared, turning to watch the prospect toss the last shovelful.

"I'd take a few hits to the head too if she was playing nurse with _me_," Bobby admitted, kicking at Tig's boot to get his attention. "Shouldn't keep that kind of thing a secret."

Tig shook his head. "Fuck off," he muttered, heart not really in it.

"All right," Chibs broke in, tossing his cigarette butt. "Let's get out of here. It's getting cold and there's something a whole lot warmer I'd rather be enjoying right now."

There was a grumble of agreement, but when the guys piled out of the van at the compound Tig headed for his bike instead of the clubhouse. He wanted to be at home, just to make sure Jamie and Calvin were okay.

…

"Okay, buddy. You know where to pour the gasoline, right?"

"Yeah."

"Go for it, then," Tig declared loudly.

Standing on a milk crate, Calvin poured gasoline from a plastic cup into the tank. His tongue was sticking out the side of his mouth as he did it, and when it was empty he looked up expectantly, pushing his glasses up.

"Good job buddy." It bothered Tig still that the kid's glasses were held together with electrical tape, but Aunt Jamie wasn't letting him help get Calvin new ones. She was protecting that nest egg, and until the renovations were done on her bathroom she wasn't taking a breath.

Still bugged him, though.

"What's next?" Calvin asked, stepping off the crate.

"We see if it runs," he said, handing Calvin a rag. "Remember, we gotta wash your hands good." He was pretty sure Jamie would kick his ass if Calvin came home smelling like flammable liquids.

"I know," Calvin said agreeably.

Tig set the key in the ignition, then paused. "Maybe we should wait until tomorrow."

"_Tig_!"

He chuckled. "I'm just saying, we might be pushing our luck."

Calvin rolled his head back, swinging his arms dramatically. "Come on, Tig! Let's just get to it already!"

"Impatient little bastard," Tig mumbled, swung his leg over, primed the starter a couple times, flicked into neutral, then stopped and dismounted. "Climb on, Charlie."

Calvin's eyes widened comically. "Really?"

"Why the hell not?"

No hesitation; he scrambled onto the ratty seat, settling upright and grinning up at Tig.

"Now get your foot up here, and put your other foot on the peg there. Good. Now you're gonna kick start this bad boy. You think you can do it?" Tig grabbed the throttle.

"I'll try."

"That's all we can do, buddy. But we gotta be in sync. One mind. Know what I mean?"

Calvin just frowned.

"Now, on four. You ready?" Calvin nodded, eyes on his face. "One. Two. Three -"

Of course it didn't work on the first go. Calvin underestimated his weight and strength, couldn't drop the starter all the way, and he looked up to Tig all panicked and worried.

"Don't worry Charlie. Half the time I can't start a bike myself. Again. One, two, three -"

Throttle caught just as ignition fired, and the bike coughed, wheezed, then started rumbling. Calvin's eyes got bigger than Tig had ever seen them, and he plopped his butt on the seat laughing hysterically.

Tig found himself laughing, too. "Wait – what are we laughing at?" he shouted over the noise.

Calvin shook his head. "I didn't think it would start."

"Why? You put sugar in my tank or something?"

"N-no!" He could barely talk from giggling.

"Then spit it out, Chuckles."

Calvin couldn't.

Tig shook his head. "That's your new name. You're no longer Charlie – you're Chuckles from here on out. Yeah?"

Calvin's giggles rang out over the rumble of the motor, and Tig gestured for him to scoot out of the way while he fiddled with the choke.

"You guys thirsty?"

Tig cast a look over his shoulder, grinning at the sight of Aunt Jamie in her short shorts and another well-worn T-shirt holding two bottles of root beer. "I am now," he drawled with a quick up and down he completely intended for her to see. It earned him a sharp look and a blush.

Calvin took one of the bottles, and she presented Tig with the second one. "I heard the engine. Thought a celebratory beer was in order," she shouted, smiling and ruffling Calvin's hair. He stepped away from her hand.

"It works Aunt Jamie! It _runs_!"

"So I hear."

"Whaddya say, babe. Wanna take a spin?" Tig raised his eyebrows and revved the motor in time.

She laughed and looked at her feet, those cheeks tinged pinker. Fuck, he loved it when that happened. "No, thanks. I'm eluding death quite nicely from where I am."

They stared at each other for just a second, and Tig remembered what he made his brothers swear to a week ago.

_She can't know she killed that guy. She can _never _know._

It was a good hit to the head. But from the way that skinhead went down Tig knew it wasn't just a concussion, it was the kind of injury that led to death without immediate medical attention. Sure they got rid of the body but Tig would die himself before Jamie found out she'd killed someone.

All for nothing, yet again. No information other than the name "Tiny" and the location of a cook site that had been packed up rapidly before he and his brothers got there. The smell of meth in progress was still lingering. It was like chasing the fucking _wind_.

"Can _I _go for a ride then?" Calvin squeaked, high as a kite on the fact the bike worked.

"No."

Jamie answered just as Tig was saying, "Sure Chuckles, climb on."

Jamie tilted her head and crossed her arms. "No, he's not riding."

"Down the street and back?" Tig was pleading like a nine-year-old himself.

Her head tilted further and her eyes got wider. "No."

Maybe he shouldn't be so agreeable with her. She was more fucking adorable the madder she got. "Please Aunt Jamie?"

"Yeah, please Aunt Jamie?" Calvin was squirming like he had to piss.

"You jerks," Jamie muttered as capitulation.

"Yes!" Calvin hissed.

"Okay Chuckles, climb on. It won't be as fun as Aunt Jamie, though," Tig winked as he said it.

Jamie shook her head and ran her hand over her forehead. She was so easy to fluster.

Calvin tried to climb on behind him, making Tig shake his head and laugh. "Chuckles, up front dude. I need to make sure you won't fly off."

Tig slid back from the handlebars, letting Calving swing a leg over the seat. Tig got close enough to the handlebars, feeling the excitement radiating out of the kid in front of him. It cracked him up.

"Down the street and back. And go slow," Jamie put in her orders.

"Yes Aunt Jamie," Tig promised, using his best Calvin voice. "Ready Chuckles?"

"Ready Tig!"

The grin stayed put as he rolled down the driveway, hitting the pavement and really opening her up. Calvin was quivering like a puppy dog he was so excited, his hands clutching the outside seams of Tig's jeans. He took the Super Glide for a ride around the block, waiting until the house was out of sight before hitting forty miles per hour.

By the time he pulled back into the garage Calvin's grin had gone from happy to all-out psyched, and Tig was just for a second jealous of everything that Calvin was going to be doing for the first time, and this was one of the starting points.

Tig had been the one to give him his first ride on a motorcycle. That was cool as shit.

Jamie had waited for them, getting up from the rolling garage stool and giving Tig a not-so-impressed look. "That sounded pretty fast."

"Nah," Tig dismissed her suspicion. "It's just a loud bike."

"Aunt Jamie, you should go too!" Calvin was chattering. "It was so much fun! The bike is loud and it rumbles and the world is flying by but you're still outside in it and it was soooo cool!"

Jamie grinned down on the nine-year-old enthusiasm. "I bet it was, Peanut."

"Don't worry Chuckles, Aunt Jamie will get her ride eventually." His innuendo talents were not really subtle, but as long as it made Aunt Jamie blush, which it did, it was a successful jibe. Tig was grinning again. He lived to made her twitchy.

He watched both Jamie and Calvin turn to the street and he did the same, just in time to see a large, black Cadillac pull up to the curb between their driveways, effectively blocking both of them. Tig knew that ride. He dropped the kickstand, frowning.

Gemma Morrow appeared at the rear, smoothing her shirt out over her hips. Tig shot a look to Jamie, saw her swallow and pull Calvin close. Shit, Gemma _had _scared her.

Tig swung off the bike, approaching his president's old lady. "Gem," he said, trying to be friendly and cautionary all at the same time. "Whatcha doing here?"

"Relax Tig, I'm here to make nice."

That brought his eyebrows up. "You?"

She threw her bitch face back at him. "Trust me, Tiggy. I have it in me."

"What are you doing here?" he repeated.

Her hand went to her waist and she tossed her hair over her shoulder with the other one. "Believe it or not, this has very little to do with you, Tigger. That girl is sick, and I want to help her."

"Help her?"

Gemma widened her eyes and crossed her arms. "That's right. Now you gonna let me talk to her or not?"

Tig tilted his head in a warning angle. "Gem -"

"I want to help, baby. It's a sisterhood thing."

"Why does this sisterhood thing make me nervous?"

Gemma just smiled.

"Go easy on her. She's shy, keeps to herself."

"Opposites attract, Tigger," Gemma reminded him, circling around him and trotting up his driveway on heels towards his neighbour.

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome.**


	29. Chapter 28

**In Canada it's Thanksgiving Monday, so I'm adding a chapter ahead of schedule because I'm thankful you guys are such amazing readers. You keep me on track and going ... plus, there's juicy stuff coming up soon and I can't wait to get you guys there. :)**

* * *

When Jamie saw the woman with the amazing jeans and heeled boots, impressively streaked hair, looking like a million bucks she swallowed, instantly feeling dowdy. For some reason this woman made her want to dress up.

"Jamie," Gemma greeted her nice enough, eyes shooting down to Calvin with a warm grin. "This the prospect I keep hearing about?"

Calvin tilted his head. "What's a prospect?"

The woman laughed easily, obviously charmed. "Someone that wants a spot in the club, honey. They have to kind of … _apprentice _before they can be in the Sons of Anarchy."

That was it. Jamie was locking Calvin in his room until it was time to go to college.

"Who said I was a prospect?"

Gemma's eyebrows went up. "Tig mentioned how good you were with motorcycles, little man."

Calvin was grinning. "He said that?"

Jamie felt the whoosh again because Tig was telling his friends what a cool kid Calvin was.

"He sure did." Gemma held out a manicured hand. "I'm Gemma Morrow. You can call me Gemma."

"I'm Calvin Taylor," Calvin said cordially, shaking her hand with a grin.

"Remember when I said girls can be scary?" Tig asked, standing behind Gemma. "This is the one that invented it."

Gemma shot an unimpressed look over her shoulder. "I'll let that go only because you called me a _girl_."

Jamie felt herself smile at that, but it faded as she watched Tig and Gemma exchange grins as well. It reminded her that _Gemma _was the type of woman for Tig, and her wonderings and ponderings were ridiculously futile. Sad. Pathetic.

Gemma turned a smile to Jamie, breaking her out of her self-deprecation. "Okay honey, get your purse. I got somewhere I want to take you."

Jamie felt irrational fear. "What?"

"Gem -" Tig was saying cautiously.

"It's just shopping," Gemma snapped at him over his shoulder. Her face and tone were friendlier as she said to Jamie, "It'll be fun. No obligation, no pressure."

Jamie gave a Tig that she _knew _looked like she wanted guidance. Reassurance it would be okay. He saw the look, interpreted it, and gave her that crooked half-smile that could mean _anything_. No help there.

Gemma's hip was out, hand sitting on it like she couldn't be swayed. A force of female nature, and … Jamie felt like she might need a bit of that.

"Okay. Let me go get changed."

"Only if you're tucking those legs in jeans and wearing something that makes your chest look less impressive than mine. That kind of outfit change I'd appreciate, actually."

Tig cracked up. Calvin frowned. And Jamie was utterly confused.

"Oh please, honey. You can play _sweet _all you want but you've got plenty of attributes I'm too old to pretend I'm not jealous of. Unless you're covering all that up, I'd say you're ready to go."

"Ummm … maybe jeans," Jamie muttered, starting down the driveway to go around the fence and head back to her place. To her surprise, Gemma followed.

"I'll hang with Calvin," Tig was shouting as the screen door shut and Jamie was alone in her house again with Gemma Morrow.

"Umm, so you want a drink or anything?" Jamie asked, feeling awkward to leave her standing in the entry while she changed.

Gemma gave a patient smile. "No, I'm fine, really. Don't worry about me, just go get ready."

Jamie quickly darted to her room, pulled on a pair of jeans and pulled her hair into an over-the-shoulder ponytail. She exited the room just as quickly, finding Gemma still at her door, arms crossed, clearly respecting Jamie's space. It made Jamie like her just that little bit more.

Gemma gave her an up and down. "I don't need to see the ass, I know you likely still look fantastic. Let's go, you hot little bitch."

Jamie was taken aback, but as Gemma slid on her sunglasses and pushed through the screen door she felt herself smile anyway, probably blushing, too. She snagged her purse and followed as ordered.

Tig and Calvin were in the driveway, waiting to bid her farewell. She gave Calvin a kiss goodbye, and Tig assured her they'd be just fine. No more bike rides, which she knew damn well was a lie because Tig was grinning and his eyes were twinkling in a way that was downright attractive.

"And don't worry about us," Gemma assured Calvin by mussing his hair, which he didn't seem to mind and that was surprising to Jamie. When _she _did it he usually groaned and tried to get away. "I'll take good care of Aunt Jamie."

"You better," Tig warned, leaning over and giving Gemma a kiss on the cheek. It seemed casual, like they did it all the time, but Jamie felt a bizarre twinge of jealousy. Then he head-jerked in Jamie's direction. "That's my girl."

Jamie bristled. In no way did she feel like _Tig's girl_, a ridiculous reaction considering she just got _jealous _of him kissing Gemma on the damn cheek, but Gemma smiled. "I know honey. I'll get her home safe and sound."

Jamie waved goodbye to the boys, then climbed up into the passenger seat of Gemma's impressive black Escalade.

As they drove, Gemma broke out the spiel and Jamie surprisingly couldn't feel angry as she spoke. "I'll lay it out for you, Jamie," Gemma started. "I was ready to hate you when I showed up here, I thought you were playing Tig for a fool. And he's not easily tricked by a slip of gash. Okay, sometimes he is. But I was sure you were scary-dangerous. Then I met you."

Jamie blinked. "Oh?"

"I have no idea what's going on. And it's a rare instance where I'm admitting it's not my business. One thing I _can _tell you is he might be confusing, but what you see is what you get. He doesn't have it in him to pretend to be anything he's not. He can get laid anytime he wants; as long as he's not picky he's never _chased_ tail. He's chasing you, which makes you _not _tail. And Tig doesn't play games. If he … says something, he means it."

Jamie nodded. "Okay."

"As you can tell, I don't mince words and I don't play games, either. Tig is important to me. We've been friends for a long time and I got a lotta love for him. But this trip today is about more than me making nice to the girl next door."

"I'm not sure -"

"I want to do something nice for you," Gemma blurted, darting a look at Jamie before returning eyes to the road. It almost seemed as though she was nervous, just a little bit. "And it's not just because of what you're going through, although that should be reason enough for anyone. I want to do something nice for you because it'll make Tig happy, too. And it'll make meeting the rest of the club easier."

Jamie frowned. "I'm not sure I follow."

"You're an outsider, I get that. And I need you to pay attention. Tig has decided you're important to him. Which means, by default, you're important to_ all _of us because of our love and respect for _him_. That's the Coles notes of what you need to know. So because I love him to death, I'm doing something nice for you, and I need you to just let me do it and not fight me on it. Do I have your agreement?"

"Without knowing what I'm agreeing to?"

Gemma smirked. "You're quick. That's good. Now just agree. Being nice isn't exactly in my genetics, so just say 'Okay' before I break out in a rash."

"Okay," she said on a laugh, still leery trusting her but willing to go with the flow for the moment.

Gemma pulled the Escalade to a stop in front of a beauty salon, put the vehicle in park and turned to Jamie with her elbow on the wheel.

"Are we … getting our hair done?" Jamie guessed, very confused.

"You're going in for chemo, honey," Gemma said carefully, reaching out and pulling her ponytail gently. "This mane of yours is amazing. It's gonna fall out." She nodded to the salon. "There's a lady here that makes wigs from real hair. I think you should prepare to loose that hair and turn it into something really amazing before it's too late."

Jamie likely went pale, suddenly feeling tricked, trapped and absolutely horrified at the same time.

And Gemma knew it. "Relax, honey. There's no need to be embarrassed. I stick my nose where it doesn't belong from time to time, but I always do it with good intentions. I know how important the hair is, honey. You don't keep a mop like that without realizing you're lucky to have it."

Jamie _did _like to keep her hair long, that was true. It was nearly to her ass and that's how she always had it. Maybe it was vanity, but it stayed healthy, shiny and not frizzy with absolutely no effort.

Jamie knew she was lucky to have the hair she did.

"Now with all that length, I'm told they can do a really nice shoulder-length wig, and then when you lose that hair you'll still, technically, have it." Gemma played with her ponytail again, looking sad. "You shouldn't lose it completely. That would be a shame. Especially if we can avoid it."

"Gemma, this is an expensive thing -"

"Don't worry about that. You already agreed to accept my gift, remember?"

"That feels like a trap."

"It is," Gemma admitted, smirk back in place. "I may be nosy, but I'm smart, too."

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome!**


	30. Chapter 29

"You don't paint the bikes yourself?"

Tig nodded. "That's right, buddy. Always know your limitations and accept them. The painting thing?" He shook his head. "Nah. That takes more patience than I have."

"What colour will the bike be?"

"I don't know. I kinda like just a classic black, everything else chrome. Can't beat a classic look, Chuckles."

"Why not yellow?"

Tig's eyebrows went high. "I don't know about that. Not really my colour. Washes me out."

"Purple?"

Tig cackled now. "You got something against black?"

"No. But the bike you have is black." Calvin took the wrench he was holding out and put it in in the right drawer of the tool chest. "You should be more original."

"Maybe. Let me think about it."

Calvin sighed, took a breath like he'd been waiting to say something, then just blurted. "I want to paint my bike pink."

Tig cocked an eyebrow but he kept any smartass comments at bay. "Pink, huh? How come?"

"For Aunt Jamie," he said softly, adjusting his glasses.

Tig felt quiet wash through the garage, his chest getting tight. He coughed to pass the moment. "That's a good idea," he agreed. "I think I can help with that, buddy."

Calvin grinned. "Cool!"

Gemma's Escalade pulling up to the curb cut the moment, and Tig held a finger out to the kid. "Remember, Aunt Jamie doesn't need to know about that ride to the store. _Or _the root beer, right?"

"Right, Tig." Calvin nodded emphatically, hopping off the stool and running towards the Escalade while Tig scrubbed the grease from his hands and followed.

Jamie climbed down from the SUV and Tig stopped, hands frozen, knowing he was likely staring.

"Aunt Jamie!" Calvin was shouting. "You look so different!"

Jamie smiled down on the kid and hugged him to her stomach. "I know. But do you like it?"

"You look pretty," Calvin said, not at all sounding rehearsed.

"Thanks Peanut," she laughed, then her head came up and Tig caught her eye.

Shit, she was beautiful. It hadn't been the hair, because now it was cropped short, curling in a dark wave just under her ears, out of the way of her face, no longer distracting from it.

It was just _her_. She was absolutely fucking gorgeous, and he felt himself swallow like he was seeing her for the first time.

Gemma circled around the back of the Caddy just in time to catch him doing the fish-mouth thing. She gave him her knowing smile and he turned back to the tool chest, wiping the last of the black shit off his hands, tossing the grease rag down and turning back, his so-called composure returning.

Jamie was letting Calvin swing her arms back and forth, prattling on, so he let himself keep staring at her. Tig didn't even care that Gemma was scrutinizing his look while she strode his way.

"Where the hell did you two go?" Tig asked, digging in his pocket for his cigarettes.

"Took her to a salon. I heard the lady there made wigs out of real hair. So she's making one for Jamie with _her own_ supply. Had to get it before she started chemo. That bitch has some great hair."

Tig hadn't been shocked twice in a row like this in a long time. Something felt _off,_ and he swallowed a lump before saying, "Thanks, Gem. That was … _nice._"

She smacked his arm. "I can be nice." Then her face got serious and she tilted her chin down. Tig knew Gemma Body Language, and this was where she got heavy. "I wasn't sure the babe in the woods routine was real, but now I know it is. And in spite of that, I like that girl. So if you fuck things up with her, I am going to be so pissed at you Tigger. You have to be nice to this one."

Tig smiled, taking Gemma by the shoulder. "Gem, who do you think you're talking to?"

"Yeah yeah," she muttered back, turning away from his hand and giving a wave. "Thanks for the shopping date, Jamie."

Jamie smiled at Gemma, and Tig felt his breath catch. Fuck, there it was. A smile she didn't try to hold back on, and it wasn't delivered just to be polite. The way she smiled at Calvin and her aunt, Thelma.

"Thank _you,_ Gemma," Jamie replied, her eyes darting sideways to Tig. The smile didn't falter, and getting it full-force could have killed him.

Gemma kissed his cheek before climbing back into the Escalade and pulling away. Tig watched while Calvin explained that Tig _wasn't _going to paint his new bike black in excited kid-speak while Jamie listened, wide-eyed and still grinning.

Jesus, he liked seeing her smile this much.

Declaring he had to go to the bathroom with a loud and rude belch, Calvin spun around and ran for the house, causing Aunt Jamie to give Tig a sideways glance.

"You took him for a root beer," she accused with the slightest bit of humour.

"Who? Me? Nah, that's not allowed."

She shook her head. "And I bet you didn't _walk _there either."

Tig had to grin, busted. "He's so excited about that bike."

"Yeah, I noticed."

Long pause, ending with her studying her feet. Tig realized he could say something else here. "How are you feeling?"

She sniffed, raising her head and shrugging. "Tomorrow's the final radiation treatment. Then I've got a week until chemo starts. I'm not as sick from the radiation anymore, but … that likely just prepares me for chemo."

Tig nodded. Not sure what the hell was working in him, he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear, taking longer than necessary and making sure his fingers really ran through it as he did so. Damn, her hair was so soft. Her smile faded a little, but she kept eye contact.

"The hair looks good," he said quietly.

Her eyes snapped back to his quickly. "Thanks."

He left his hand behind her ear. He didn't know why, and he only realized it then. He let his fingers slide upwards against the fall of her chestnut-coloured hair, tilting her head just a bit.

"Is anything wrong?" she whispered.

He shook his head. "No. I just … I thought I'd miss the hair. But you're even prettier without it."

"Tig -"

"Sorry," he cut her off. "I'm blurting things out as they come to me."

"It's fine," she assured him. She wasn't pulling away or shoving his arm, either. "What … umm," she cleared her throat and blinked a couple times. "What happened to those guys that were here last week?"

He dropped his hand. "They won't be coming back here, don't worry."

She inhaled. "Does that mean they're in the hospital?"

He let himself smile. "No."

That actually relieved her, and he felt like an ass. He couldn't say they were in the hospital because the truth was they were four feet under the sand of the desert, and their deaths had been as frustrating as the others.

If Tig had anything to do with it, Jamie was _never_ going to know _any _of that.

"I better go get supper ready," she said, and he realized he'd fallen silent and stared at her like a freak for almost a straight minute.

"Sorry. Yeah," he said, shaking his head and rubbing his brow, trying to get back on his regular track.

"We likely have enough for one more, if you like," she said, so calmly but quietly he wasn't sure if it meant she wanted him there or not.

"Ummm, nah. I wouldn't want to be a pain in the ass."

She shook her head. "You wouldn't be. You've been so good to Calvin this summer. To both of us, really. I'd like you to come over."

Tig had never done a handspring, but he might have been capable of it. He knew he was grinning, and for the life of them he couldn't care less if he looked like a complete schmuck.

"What time?"

She smiled, and it did nothing to calm his shit down. "Umm, around six?"

"I'm there. Thanks Aunt Jamie."

* * *

**Okay, so that's three chapters in three days. But I wrote about four so ... I had to share another. Comments and reviews welcome!**


	31. Chapter 30

Jamie was pretty sure she'd lost her mind that day.

She cut her hair off. She let the very nice lady at Gemma's salon take scissors to her hair and … chop it. It was shocking. So short and light. She felt naked. And yet, at the same time, knowing she'd get her hair back once it legitimately fell out, she was okay with that.

Clearly meaning she was now insane.

She _did _like how the woman had cut it though, once she got over nearly-fainting as the stylist brushed her hair into a ponytail then just _cut it off_. Shorter, her hair now had some wave to it. And it _did _feel good, but it would take getting used to.

She wasn't completely okay with it until Tig said he liked it. It seemed stupid, silly, but after the big deal he made about her hair before … well, she felt really good. Let's just leave it at that.

Then she invited him to supper. Again. In her house. _Insane._

At least Aunt Thelma was going to be there. That was good. It was Calvin's last week of summer break, they'd go to her radiation treatments tomorrow then head right to the farm for a week. Jamie was looking forward to it. It was so peaceful there. Her favourite thing to do was curl up on the porch with a book. And Aunt Thelma was going to let her get away with ducking out of the work, she knew it.

And another adult was absolutely, completely necessary if Tig Trager was in her house again.

She headed back inside with a shy, sixth-grade-date-awkward wave to Tig, honed in on the relative comfort of her kitchen.

"Calvin," she shouted when she heard the bathroom door open in her bedroom. "What do want with the pork chops?"

"Can we have the tater tot special again?"

Jamie winced. They'd had it for his birthday, and it was delicious. But it was also tater tots, butter, cheese and bacon. Although, she wasn't too worried about weight gain at this point in time.

"Okay," she relented. "Is it okay if Tig comes for supper too?"

His grin tripled in size. "Yeah!"

"Okay, good. Go see if he needs any more help today."

"Thanks Aunt Jamie!" He completely ignored her open arms, which usually meant _hug me_, and raced for the front door, throwing open the screen and tearing off down the stoop.

She got everything ready for the tater tot … _casserole_? Was that a good term for it? Aunt Thelma used to make it for her and Jaclyn using hashbrown patties when they were growing up. It was both disgusting and delicious.

She decided to also roast a few potatoes, for the adults. Okay, for her and Thelma.

Jamie was slaughtering a block of marble cheese with her shredder when Thelma arrived, putting a bag on the table with a "How's everyone doing?" before she gasped and rushed at Jamie.

Jamie was turning around just as Thelma grabbed her face. "Your hair! What happened?!" She wasn't upset, she seemed to really love it.

Jamie grinned. "A friend took me to a salon today. They're making my hair into a wig."

Aunt Thelma had been fluffing her hair up a bit, then she froze. "Really?"

Jamie nodded. "She's a … friend of Tig's, actually. She took me there. She … bought me a wig."

Thelma's entire face softened. "Oh, honey. That's … that's so wonderful."

Jamie felt tears. Again. "Yeah, I thought it was pretty cool, too."

Thelma hugged her then pulled back and gave a thoughtful smile. "Jamie, honey. I haven't asked you about your neighbour but -"

"Aunt Thelma -"

"No, no. I get to say something, I'm older than you."

Jamie took a deep breath, but made her "carry on" motion anyway.

Thelma sat in at the kitchen table sideways, arm on the tabletop, the other on the back of the chair. "Is anything going on?"

Jamie turned away to the cheese and tater tots to answer. "No."

"Jamie," Thelma chastised.

"I don't know," she said over her shoulder. "I'm not in a good place. I can't even … _consider _that."

"Jesus, sweetheart. I'm not saying _marry _him."

That made Jamie turn around. "What?"

Thelma titled her head. "I may never have married, but that doesn't mean I'm going to my grave as pure as the day I was born."

Jamie had to blink a couple times. "Aunt _Thelma!"_

"What? You're not a child anymore, Jamie. You can handle hearing this."

Jamie rubbed her eyes, trying to position the woman talking to her right then as the aunt she'd known since birth.

"And if that was living next door to me it'd take a lot more than cancer to keep me out of his bed."

"Aunt _Thelma_!" Jamie knew it was silly, and she _was _too old to think of adults the same way she did when she was sixteen, but … _what?_

"I know what I walked in on on Calvin's birthday, Jamie. I've been sitting around, patiently waiting for you to wake up, but it's not happening. Calvin just informed me Tig's coming over for supper tonight? So you invited him _just because_?"

"It's to celebrate my last round of radiation, Aunt Thelma. He's been nearly babysitting Calvin this entire time." She heard how her voice went into teenager mode but that's how it was with Aunt Thelma.

Thelma chewed her lip. "I can't decide if he's attractive. Is he?"

Jamie blinked. "I … I don't know. I don't think it's how he looks, I think it's … being around him."

"Charm," Thelma guessed. "Yes, he's charming. How old do you think he is?"

Jamie shrugged. "I couldn't even guess. I'm sure he's older than I am but I have no idea how_ much_ older."

"I'm going to tell you a story. Can you handle it?"

"Can I reserve the right to stop you if you freak me out?"

Thelma waved a hand at the chair across from her, and Jamie sat with one leg bent underneath her, in case she felt the intense need to escape.

"Back when I first bought my farm, there was this man who I would hire every fall when he rolled through. He was just looking for a bit of work, a real rolling stone." Aunt Thelma smiled, suddenly looking very young. "He rode a motorcycle, too. He wasn't in a club or anything, but he spent every spring, summer and fall riding across the country. I was so envious of that. And the way he filled out a pair of Levis? I tell you, sweetheart, it should have been a crime."

That made Jamie grin. And squirm.

"He was fifteen years younger than me. The first time he kissed me I didn't know if I should kiss him back or take him over my knee for Christ's sake." Thelma's eyes got twinkly, just a little. "Some of the best nights of my life were spent letting that boy kiss me. I knew it wouldn't last past autumn. I knew he wasn't going to be all _mine_. But … I'd never give up those three autumns, even knowing what I know now."

"Thelma -"

"You took on Calvin, honey. Someone else's mistake, but you made it your responsibility. You've always been a little grown-up in one way or another. That whole _oldest sibling_ thing." Now Thelma looked sad. "You should have seen how you looked right after he kissed you, honey. Ten years younger. A thousand pounds of responsibility lighter. So beautiful. He took everything away for a second."

Jamie's nose tingled. Her eyes felt wet. "Thelma -"

"Your mother would kill me for saying this, but … if he makes you feel that good, then let him. Enjoy being young like this while you can. Like I did. There's no shame in being happy, Jamie. And that man? The way he held you? And was touching you?" Thelma shook her head. "You deserve that right now. You deserve something that makes you feel good."

Jamie knew cheeks were pink. "I … I don't know what to say to that."

"Don't say anything. Just consider it. Because, although I don't know him from a hole in the ground, I'd say you can trust him to be kind to you." They shared a moment of eye contact, then Thelma clapped her hands together. "Okay, I brought my cookie dough. Let's get these in the oven!"

* * *

**Comments and reviews, welcome as always.**


	32. Chapter 31

**To those of you who followed "Something Wicked" when it was being written you know I'm a fan of the one-day updates. My plan is, now that Valerie Turner is done with, I will keep going with this one doing weekday updates and taking my weekends off to write and BETA. If this doesn't work for any reason I promise to let you know the "schedule" is changing. Because you are all NUTS for Tig.**

* * *

"What is this?" Tig asked, pointing at the baggies Clay had just thrown down on the table in front of them.

He'd gotten a call from the president late afternoon to come to church right away. Impromptu meeting. Now there were four small baggies of white crystals on the table, and even though he'd asked he knew what it was.

"That's the new ice on the streets. Gemma just found it on Trixie."

"Who the fuck's Trixie?" Tig snapped.

"Dark-haired one with the snatch like a steel trap," Chibs answered.

"Oh." Yeah, he knew which one that was. "Shit. She's an ice-head?"

Clay nodded. "I guess so. Smoking, not shooting. It's harder to tell. Gem brought this to me right after she threw her out."

"She say where she was getting it?" Bobby asked, stroking his beard.

"Skinny white kid outside the gas station on Elm. She bought it _today_."

"Recruited some more dealers," Chibs pointed out the obvious.

"Or sent some in. I'm getting really fucking tired of this Tiny guy," Clay muttered, rubbing his forehead. "Chibs, you and Bobby go take a look into this guy at the gas station. See if he's there. Tig, you wanna tag along?"

Tig rubbed his hands on his jeans. He was dying to take out more of these dealers, but he had supper at Jamie's. And he didn't want to be late for it.

So how could he share that without sounding totally pussy-whipped?

"I got something tonight, can't do," he answered ambiguously.

Chibs raised his eyebrows. "Really? Book club is it?"

"Nah, tonight's the night he calls bingo at the Senior's Centre," Piney croaked from the far end of the table. That cut all those pricks up.

Tig just nodded, biting his lip hard. "That's right, fuckers. Laugh it up."

"Is it a date?" Clay asked, bringing the room to utter silence.

Tig didn't look up from his hands. "No, not a date."

"Shit," Chibs muttered. "It's that piece next door to 'ya, isn't it?"

Tig just kept staring at his hands.

"She _looks _like she smells good," Bobby chuckled.

They'd all seen her the day she knocked down that dealer in his driveway, wearing a tank top and her short shorts and looking absolutely fuckable like she always did. And Bobby's comment made him crank his hands into fists.

"What was that?" Tig asked, head tilted.

"Enough of this," the VP Jax Teller snapped, bringing everyone's head around. "None of us should want to know anything about where Tig sticks it."

"Unless he's planning on sharing," Chibs amended with a grin. "I'd take seconds on that."

Tig wasn't sure what happened. One second he was sitting next to his brother, and the next he had the bastard up against the wall by the neck of his shirt, plowing his fist into Chibs' cheekbone.

Two more of his brothers were pulling him back, and the room was a mess of raised voices and curse words. Chibs, for his part, looked completely shocked by Tig's reaction, which was the only reason Tig didn't get a retaliatory belt in _his_ beak.

Clay was the one to toss Tig off the Scotsman, Tig ending up half sitting on the redwood table. "Fucking _hell_," Clay roared. "Chibs, take Bobby and get the hell out of here. Now. Everyone else out." He pointed a finger at Tig. "_You. _Stay."

Everyone cleared out, and Tig took the moment to straighten his kutte, not looking any of his brothers in the eye. Once the doors were shut again he brought his face up to Clay's.

"You gotta sort your shit out," Clay snapped. "What the fuck is that about?"

Tig sighed, running his hand through his hair. "Nothing. I'm on edge."

"About what? The broad next door? Honest to Christ, I can't have you falling apart on account of pussy, man. My VP is all twisted up in knots with his old flame coming back to town and his old lady nearly killing their kid. Now my go-to right hand is losing _his _fucking mind? I can't have that, Tig."

"I know, Clay. I'm sorry. I just … I don't like them talking about Jamie like that. She ain't another crow eater."

"And you know the guys will bust your balls for it. _Because _she's not another crow eater. And they likely don't think you really mean it. The places _your _dick has been don't show you to be picky, Tig."

"I just don't want them talking that way about _her_," he repeated.

"Well, point made, I think. If you're into her, whatever. Stake that claim and move the fuck on, man. If not, just move on. And don't keep hiding her or lying about it. And no more fistfights over gash in fucking _church_, got it?"

Tig nodded, chastised and cracking his knuckles in nervousness. "Got it." Clay raised his eyebrows, obviously not believing it. "I got it!"

Clay nodded, heading back for the gavel, then turned back. "Did Gemma actually take her shopping today?"

"Yeah. She's going to lose her hair during chemo. They cut it off today, and Gemma's got this lady making her a wig I guess."

Clay blinked a couple times. "Fuck Tig, you are such a pain in my ass."

"Yeah, I know." He didn't know where that accusation came from, but it was usually true so he agreed without hesitation.

"If _Gemma _likes her, you can_not _fuck this girl over. Gemma will tear your dick off with her bare hands."

"I know."

"Probably feed it to her fucking bird."

"I know."

"And then _I'll _be hearing about it, too."

Tig just nodded.

"Go ahead. Play house with the cutie-pie next door. But you know what these assholes are like when they think you're keeping a secret. You're not going to be able to hide it. You're a shitty liar."

Tig grinned. "Yeah, I know."

"And if she's willing to be with a miserable prick like you, you need to bring her out. Introduce her. Having her part of _you _when none of us know her is going to make the guys nervous. You know that, too. No matter how much she and Gemma might become best friends."

"I know. But she's shy. I don't want them scaring her off."

"She's gotta be tougher than that to be part of this club, Tigger," Clay said quietly. "The women gotta prove themselves just as much as we do."

Tig nodded.

"She clocked that guy that was going to beat the holy hell out of you. That bodes well for her. But if you want them respecting her, you got show her the respect of letting her get to know your family, man."

Tig looked at his feet, knowing every word Clay said was true. The scariest part was that he was _thinking_ this way about a broad.

"Now go have dinner with your neighbour. Bring her a bottle of wine or something. And get fucking laid before your frustration ends up killing any of my guys, got it?"

Tig shook his head, but knew not to argue. "Later," was all he said as he made for his bike.

And he did stop for a bottle of white wine on his way back to his house. And like Calvin's birthday, he showered and put a clean shirt on before heading over.

Calvin let him in the door with a big "Hi Tig!" Then the kid bounded through the living room into the kitchen shouting "Tig's here!"

Aunt Thelma stepped out of the kitchen entryway, grinning broadly. "Tig, nice to see you again."

"Aunt Thelma," he greeted, surprising her by winding his arm around her back and kissing her cheek. "You're looking plenty saucy tonight."

"Oh, you flirt," she mumbled, shoving him off but giggling all the same.

"Damn, losing my touch," he mumbled back, grinning across the kitchen at Jamie and holding out the bottle of wine the broad at the store had recommended. "For dinner," he declared proudly.

"Thanks," Jamie said, taking the bottle and putting it in the fridge. Dammit, her ass looked great in jeans, too. He had to avert his eyes with Aunt Thelma in the room.

"Can I help with anything?" He wiped his hands on his shirt front like that cleared him for kitchen duty.

"Can you open this jar of pickles?" Thelma asked, handing it over, still a little red-faced. "Damn arthritis."

"Love to, doll."

As the seal of the jar popped and he handed it back, Tig admitted to himself Clay was right. This woman let her in his house, sat him down to eat with her aunt and nephew; the only people she really had in the whole world. Hell, he'd even met her shit show of a sister. In return, he was trying to shove her in a corner and keep her away from the people that mattered to _him_. Clay met her by accident and Gemma had forced her own introduction on Jamie. What an asshole he was.

And the thought of showing her off made him grin for some reason.

"We're eating outside," Jamie brought him back with her voice while handing him an opened bottle of beer. "You can go take a seat."

"You sure you don't need help?"

"Everything's taken care of. Go ahead."

With a nod and a wink at Aunt Thelma he joined Calvin at the patio table, setting his beer down next to the kid's bottle of root beer.

"Isn't that your _third_ one today?"

"Yes."

"You sure you can handle that, Chuckles?"

Calvin laughed as an answer.

"Okay, buddy. Your bike. What kind of pink were you thinking about?"

* * *

**Comments and reviews are welcome.**


	33. Chapter 32

"No, no," Aunt Thelma chastised while slapping Jamie's hand away from the pile of plates. "Calvin and I can handle the dishes. It's almost his bedtime anyway."

Jamie gave her a very pointed look but Thelma was already through the patio door, Calvin dragging his feet behind her like he'd rather be in gym class.

Jamie shook her head to herself, taking a swig of wine while Tig cleared his throat and squinted at her over the patio table.

"So, last radiation treatment tomorrow?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Then a week's rest at Aunt Thelma's before chemo. I'm looking forward to this week, actually. I always sleep really well when I'm there. Must be the country air or something."

He grinned. "Yeah, this smoggy metropolis of Charming can sure keep you up, and that's not even counting the traffic and loud parties."

She laughed at that, setting her glass down. "Hey, this _is _urban compared to the farm."

"Then the chemo starts, hey?"

She nodded, feeling the smile fade. "Yeah. Really, the surgery should have been the scariest part but … the chemo has me terrified."

Tig cleared his throat again and shifted in his chair. "The contractor I lined up can start day after tomorrow. So that works out pretty well. He can do the bathroom while you're gone."

She winced. "I'm not sure I want anyone here when I'm gone."

"Would you trust me to watch over the work?"

Jamie blinked a couple times, liking how he phrased that as much as she liked the offer. "I wouldn't want to bother you -"

"No bother," he cut in. "I'm right next door. I'm not going anywhere the next few days. Plus, if I scare them enough, I can make sure they're not stealing the knick knacks or panting over your photos up on the walls."

She made a face. "Tig!"

He laughed at that. "Hey, if _I _noticed them …" he let that trail off.

"Oh my God," she mumbled, reaching for the wine again.

The evening was already getting dark since they'd all lingered outside chatting and talking for hours. It was pleasant and comfortable, but with Aunt Thelma and Calvin no longer there Jamie felt on guard again.

"How are _you_ holding up?" he finally asked quietly, those blue eyes focused on hers with alarming intensity and his voice showing concern. It made her uncomfortable in a very … _warm _way.

"Me?" She shrugged. "I don't know. I guess … I'm fine. Just doing one thing at a time, really."

He leaned forward, sideways to the table, elbows on his knees so he was almost close enough to touch. "I mean how _are _you holding up? After your surgery you were … upset."

She swallowed. "I'm sorry about that, I wasn't -"

"Don't be sorry. Not a lot of people trust me enough to really show me what they're thinking. Or feeling. I … kind of felt honoured."

She frowned. "By a weeping mess?"

He grinned. "You were never a mess, Jamie. I've been worried about you."

Another gulp of wine. Dammit, and damn Aunt Thelma for sharing her dusty ranch-hand Harlequin story.

"And I'm still thinking about the night of Calvin's birthday," he continued, eyes on the deck boards now. "And when I might be able to do that again."

Jamie inhaled, trying her best to not remember. Fighting back the sensory memory of his hands, his mouth, the smell and feel of him … but it was in her. And she couldn't pretend it wasn't.

"Tig, listen -"

"I'll never push you. But I think it's fair that you know this. I like you." His eyes came up again and she was pinned in place. "A lot. And not just a roll-in-the-hay kind of like, that ain't it at all. It'd be easier if it was, I'm more used to that. But that's not what's going on here. And quite frankly Jamie, you can do a hell of a lot better than me. I know that. It doesn't mean I accept it. I kissed you. And I think you liked it as much as I did."

She couldn't interject, couldn't stop him from _sharing_. Who the _hell _talked like that? Just put it all out there as he was thinking it? Who _did _that?

"Tig -"

"So you have to tell me to fuck off. Or let it lie. Or give you time. Or ask me to do it again. Because I need to know if I'm banging my head on this wall for a reason. So Jamie … what's it going to be?"

"We need to plan this out?"

That brought on a crazy grin. "Not plan it. But I've laid it out there. And you have not. You have a lot going on, I get that, too. But without guidance, I'm going to just do what I want to do. And you're shy, you're quiet. I want to give you a chance to tell me to back off."

Shit. It made her uncomfortable but she had to admit she liked that he laid it out like that.

Jamie set her wine down, opened her mouth to speak, closed it, leaned forward, and tried again. She wasn't as direct. She couldn't do this. She couldn't just _say _what she wanted.

"I'm not made like that," she said, frowning at how stupid it sounded.

He nodded. "Okay." Then he got to his feet, took her arm and pulled her up with him. "Your aunt and Calvin will be out here soon. Tell me before they get out here or I'm kissing you right now."

Her chest and cheeks warmed instantly, heart fluttering to be standing so close while remembering how he kissed. "Ummm …"

He laughed. "You're not that well-spoken."

"No, I'm not."

"That's okay," he whispered, hand along her waist, sliding around her back, pulling her close in the process. His widened his eyes, almost a threat. "I'm gonna do it, Jamie. I mean it."

"I don't … I need time to think."

"No, you don't," he assured her. "You've had plenty of time to think of a lot of things. You're leaving for a week, you'll have time to think then, too." His other hand slid along the side of her neck. "Right now, in this moment, what do you want?"

She blinked. Breathed. Licked her lips. _Shit_.

Tig kissed her. Same as before, but it still shocked her how softly he could do it, and she again stopped breathing at first, her eyes closing right at the moment of contact. And then she licked his bottom lip.

She might not have been able to _say _it, but apparently _that _said plenty. He … _growled_, was the only way to put it, hand spearing into her hair at the back of her head while his arm clenched around her back, tight enough that it wrapped all the way around her waist. And his tongue in her mouth was just as aggressive, just as consuming, bringing more heat to her face. Then she _had _to breathe so she gasped into his mouth but it came across more like a whimper.

Her heart was hammering almost painfully. And the thought of what she may be _lacking _was gone, he held her tight and kissed her exactly in the way he likely wanted her. And she liked it, holy _shit _she really liked it.

"Don't kiss her!"

Tig let her mouth go, but he was still holding her. She blinked to get her bearings back, turning her head to the doorway. Calvin was standing on the porch, his hands clenched tight, his face twisted with anger.

"Calvin!" she scolded, and that's when Tig stepped back, letting go of her. Her body didn't like that much, but she'd never seen Calvin so angry.

"Don't kiss her. Don't _touch _her!"

She made eye contact with Tig, and he was looking just as alarmed as she was. She took a breath then approached her nephew, hand out to put on his shoulder. "Calvin -" she began gently, but he backed out from under her hand.

"No, and you stay away from me, too!" Then he was gone, back through the door in a flurry of stomping feet.

She turned back to Tig, eyes wide. "I have no idea what just happened."

Tig's jaw was set, hands on hips. "I got it," he said low, pushing past her into the house.

* * *

**Have a great weekend everyone! As always, comments and reviews welcome.**


	34. Chapter 33

Tig got his breathing and pulse back to normal before knocking on the kid's door with his knuckle. More than being absolutely ramped up about Aunt Jamie, he was pretty much gutted by the look on Calvin's face on the patio.

There was no answer to his knock. "Can I come in, Chuckles?"

"Go away."

Guilty _and _a bit pissed off, that's where Calvin's answer got him to. "Nah man, you give someone an order like that you better be able to explain yourself. You can't just disappear and pout."

"Tig!" Jamie hissed from the mouth of the hallway. "Just leave him be for a while."

Tig shook his head. "Nah, I'm finding out what the hell that was all about. He's a _kid, _Jamie. He has to answer for shit."

"Let him be," she repeated.

Tig felt his eyebrows go up. "What he just said felt like an accusation, of what, I have no idea. And he doesn't get to talk to _you_ that way, either. He's in your house, it's your rules. You get respect. That's bullshit."

She swallowed and bit her lip. He hated to think she might be a bit afraid of him, but at least she didn't appear worried he was going to take his belt to Calvin's butt or anything.

"Calvin," he called out, turning back to the door. "I'm coming in, buddy."

He waited, got no answer, then pushed the door inwards. Calvin was on his side on his bed, curled up in a ball with his face to the opposite wall.

Tig stepped into the room, hands on hips, waiting. Still no response.

"Calvin," he said, intentionally softening his voice. "What was that all about?"

Silence again. Tig inhaled, putting his patience to the limit, eyes scanning the room and its diagrams of solar systems and pictures of stars and shit. New to the mix: a beauty shot of a Harley Davidson Softtail Classic. He guessed it was a 2003. There was also a shelf stuffed full of well-loved books, more than Tig had probably ever _held _in his lifetime, never mind _read. _On top sat that damn _Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. _

Tig picked it up, grinning at how pages were dog eared, even though it was a library book. "How many times have you checked this book out, Chuckles?"

No answer, just a sniffle.

Tig lowered himself to his ass with a groan, leaning against the wall next to the door. He flipped through the marked sections, eyebrows high as he realized this book was a bit better than he had originally thought.

"_Other people can talk about how to expand the destiny of mankind. I just want to talk about how to fix a motorcycle. I think that what I have to say has more lasting value,_" Tig muttered to himself. He didn't like reading out loud, he was nowhere near as smooth with it as Calvin was. He flipped pages again, casting a look up at the lump on the bed. Nothing.

He cleared his throat, found another marked page. "_You look at where you're going and where you are and it never makes sense, but then you look back at where you've been and a pattern seems to emerge._" That one registered. Man, that one _really _registered. Flipped pages again.

Still, Calvin didn't stir.

Tig tried another one. "_The truth knocks on the door and you say, 'Go away, I'm looking for the truth,' and so it goes away. Puzzling."_

Calvin sat up, that little face still screwed up with how pissed was, eyes red, and he slid his glasses back in place.

Fuck it. Tig was taking him to get new glasses, that pissed him off.

"What's going on, man?" Tig asked gently. "You gotta tell me why you went off on me like that."

Calvin's lower lip shook when he talked. "It was just because you liked _her_. You're not my friend at all."

Well shit. If Tig ever thought a kid this small and skinny couldn't possibly hurt him, he was dead wrong. That was a sucker punch to the gut.

"Why would you say that?"

"Why else would you pretend to be my friend?"

"Calvin, trust me, I'm a real shitty liar. I wasn't pretending anything." Fuck, this was complicated. Tig set the book down, rubbing his eyes. "Why would I be here asking you to talk to me?"

"So Aunt Jamie doesn't get mad at you. Because you like her."

"I don't want _you_ mad at me, Calvin." Maybe it was because he used the kid's real name, but he finally got eye contact. "Come on, man. We hang out, isn't that fun?"

Calvin nodded.

"Am I mean to you when your Aunt Jamie's not around?"

Pause, then Calvin shook his head.

Tig saw it, plain as day. "Were guys nice to you just to get close to your mom?"

Biting his lip, Calvin nodded.

"Then they left when they didn't want her around anymore?"

Again, a nod.

Tig got to his knees, bracing his elbows on the side of the bed. "Calvin, you're smarter than me. You're gonna be a better person than me. You won't do as much stupid shit as me. Technically, you shouldn't _want _me as friend."

Calvin looked panicked. "But I thought you were -"

"I am," he assured him. "And I'm the lucky one, buddy. Trust me. I like you, Chuckles. And yeah, I like your aunt Jamie. I mean, she's really pretty. Don't you think she's pretty?"

Calvin made a face.

"Hey, come on now. You know she _is_," Tig said with a laugh, giving the kid's shoulder a knock.

"I guess," he admitted. Reluctantly.

"Dude, you can get as mad at me as you want. Call me names. Tell me I'm doing something dumb. But give me the chance to explain myself. 'Cause we're friends, and that's how it is with friends. I can do the same thing to you." He lowered his face and raised his eyebrows to show how serious he was now. "But I never want to hear you be mean to Aunt Jamie ever again, got it? Get mad at me all you want, but _not _her. She doesn't deserve that. Right?"

Calvin's eyes watered up again. "I know."

"Don't cry," he was saying, but before he knew it this skin-and-bones nine year old was throwing himself into Tig, hugging him.

Tig froze, not sure about the decorum on hugging kids. Kids that weren't _his. _Fuck it. He hugged Calvin, patting his narrow little back. "You got a problem with me, you tell me, buddy," Tig said. "I ain't a mind reader. You gotta have the balls to say it or just put up with it. Yeah?"

"Yeah," Calvin agreed, backing off him and perching on the bed. "I'm sorry Tig."

"Don't sweat it, Chuckles," Tig replied, messing up his hair. "You just want to protect Aunt Jamie, too. That's good. That makes me proud of you."

Tig had to grin at how Calvin sat up straighter, his little chest puffing out all proud. Tig held up his fist. "We good?"

Calvin bumped it. "We're good."

"All right. Can I go kiss Aunt Jamie again now?"

Calvin made a face. "She's a girl!"

"I don't like kissing guys. That's _my _business, not yours," Tig muttered, standing up. "Now go to bed. And stop cramping my style. I'm supposed to be a badass."

"You're not," Calvin informed him with great wisdom.

Tig had to smile. "Go to sleep. You're still growing."

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome.**


	35. Chapter 34

Jamie downed the last mouthful from the bottle of wine Tig had bought for supper just as he returned to the kitchen. Thelma was watching TV, volume quite loud, and Jamie got to her feet from the kitchen table, worried.

"What happened?" she asked desperately.

"He thought I was only being nice to him to get in your pants," Tig said bluntly. "I'm thinking your sweetheart of a sister had quite a few guys taking that angle with him. It really hurt him."

Jamie's eyebrows went up. "He told you all that?"

Tig shook his head. "Believe it or not, I figured it out all for myself. That's what he was so pissed about. Getting mad at _you, _that was just the left over."

Jamie felt that one right in the heart. "Oh my God, that poor kid."

"He's fine, we're buds again. Forgiven and understood."

She sighed. "Thank you. Should I go talk to him?"

"Absolutely not," he said in a tone that startled her, made her look up into those unbelievably blue eyes while her heart skipped a bit. "What? Why?"

He played with the hair behind her right ear, smiling now, just a bit. "Because I told him I was coming out here to kiss you again. I told him to go to bed."

Jamie's cheeks got warm. "Tig, why'd you tell him that?"

"Why should I lie? That's the worst thing that kid's gonna see in his life? Me kissing his aunt?"

_Well stop talking about it and _do _it _was her stupid response, thankfully a silent one. Trying to figure out what to say, she absently licked her lips.

She had to be more careful with that, apparently.

Tig growled and kissed her again, lifting her up to her tiptoes with his hands on her waist, making her feel small and petite.

She pushed away, taking a deep breath. "Tig -" she whispered.

"Swear to Christ Jamie," he muttered, hand pressing to her jaw, his thumb running down from her lip to her chin roughly. "We do that again without anyone else around and it's ending up in bed."

Full-body quiver that made her close her eyes. She might have stopped breathing.

Then he let her go with another quick kiss on the cheek. "Spare keys? For the contractors?"

"Key holder by the front door," she answered almost robotically. "Kermit the Frog key chain."

He nodded and left her kitchen, the room feeling bright and airy again once he was clear of it. She had to close her eyes and cover her mouth, trying to fight what her body was wanting.

"Jamie."

She turned, seeing Aunt Thelma wide-eyed in the curved archway between the kitchen and living room. "What?"

"Go after him."

She frowned. "What?"

"Go after him. See what happens. You're going to be so sick in a week, and … it would be nice to have a good moment to think about? Wouldn't it?"

Jamie was incredulous. "Are you insane?"

"Go after him," Thelma repeated. "Or by Christ, I will myself."

Jamie blinked, then had to grin. "Oh, Aunt Thelma."

"Go," she insisted, grabbing Jamie's arm and pulling her though the living room. "Let me just live vicariously for once and go do something maybe stupid but certainly tempting. _Go_." She pulled the door open and waited.

"Aunt Thelma -"

"Honey, go feel good. Even if it's just for a little while. _Please_."

Jamie's cheeks were blazing red, the wine in her blood making her feel a little too impulsive suddenly.

"I can't."

"Trust me Jamie, you _can_."

That was how she found herself striding up his walkway, to the stoop, and opening the screen door without knocking, wondering if she was drunk or crazy.

"What are you doing here?" Tig sounded like he felt her confusion as well, having just flicked on the kitchen light, turning to his door when he heard her open it.

"I just …" she lost the words. Her heart was hammering, now that she'd done the really stupid part and followed him over here, set foot in his house alone. That's pretty much where her plan ended.

"Is everything okay?"

She took a deep breath, shaking her head. "I just …" Yep, second time she'd said that.

He came forward, hand going to the side of her face gently. "Jamie? Are you okay?"

She closed her eyes. Shit, that just figured. She was turned on, he was all about friendly concern and worry. This was a stupid idea.

Jamie opened her eyes, about to excuse herself and her odd behaviour, blaming it on copious amounts of wine, but he was still too close and dark and intimidating and exciting. She sighed, looking up at those eyes, deciding right then and there that they were gorgeous. Not scary; she'd never had them look at her in anger or intimidation. They were gorgeous and they almost hurt.

She leaned in and kissed him. He was surprised, easing back like he was worried she didn't realize what she'd done. But instead of letting him back away, she followed, pressing into his chest, sliding her arms around his shoulders.

_Joy _and_ triumph_ didn't quite cover what she felt when he wrapped both arms around her back. He deepened the kiss immediately, making a meal of her lips and taking control of her mouth. Her hands found his hair, his went to hers as well, holding her head in place firmly.

"I told you what would happen," he growled against her mouth.

"I know," she panted back, almost hating how desperate it sounded and how warm he'd already made her.

His hands shot down to the bottom of both ass cheeks, and on cue she popped up to his waist, letting him hold her weight as she squeezed her thighs to his hips. He held her there for a moment, kissing her more until she moaned, catching herself completely by surprise.

That was when he moved, carrying her through his darkened living room to the hall, through a doorway, kicking it closed behind him. How he found the bed she didn't know, didn't care.

Tig lowered her to the edge of the mattress carefully, dropping to his knees in front of her, then gathering her up to his chest again, popping her backside off the bed and landing her in his lap like he changed his mind. His hands pushed under her shirt to slide over her lower back warm, rough, and fantastic. His mouth absolutely divine, the rest of her body aching to get the same treatment her lips and tongue were enjoying.

"I gotta to see you," he whispered, mouth still on hers. "I gotta turn the light on. Please. I've been dying to know."

His words made her shudder, but what he was asking made her _think,_ which froze her.

He felt it, felt her withdraw. His hands slid up her neck to cup her face in front of his, his breath smelling of beer, hot on her skin. It wasn't disgusting, it was perfectly him and it tasted like_ he_ did and she was loving it. "Please Jamie, let me watch you. You're so fucking beautiful. I've got to see."

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, letting his words wash over her. He thought she was beautiful, he _wanted _to see her. This man who could hav "easy" without much trouble, was desperate for _her._ And the entire time all she could think was how her body had been mangled. How he'd undoubtedly be disgusted, and that would kill her.

"Please," he whispered again. "I could never see you as anything but perfect."

Tears stung her eyes, but before she could go back to that dark and ugly place she was replying, "Okay."

He lifted her from his lap easily, depositing her on the edge of the bed again. He leaned across her to flick on the light on the nightstand, and the room lit up warm and golden.

When Jamie had stayed here she liked the light of that lamp, it had been great for reading. For some reason it reminded her of her parent's cottage in Washington state. There was a lamp there that had been an old seventies relic delegated to cottage duty with a fringed orange shade, but the light it gave was so particular to how safe and cosy she'd always felt there. Tig's lamp had the same glow.

But now the glow held him, in front of her, still on his knees. Her hands were on his chest, pushing into the neck of his shirt. The way his eyes were running over her made his words more believable. Well, if he wanted to see her she wanted to see _him_, too.

She undid the top button of his shirt, and he was quick to help, undoing the next four quickly in the time it took her to get her hands to function well enough to do the top one. Impatient, he pulled the shirt off over his head, cupping her face in his hands again and pulling her mouth to his.

Jamie's hands ran over his chest. He wasn't ripped, but he felt _strong. _His chest was covered in a carpet of hair, which she half-expected. This was a man's man, they always had chest hair. She scratched her fingernails through it before he caught her wrists, chuckling – again, another trait that was so male she felt something deep behind her bellybutton quiver a little.

"Easy, sweetheart," he murmured, kissing her softly. "I'm ticklish."

She smiled against his lips, that bit of personal information thrilling in its own way. He eased upward, forcing her back, squirming on elbows and ass until they were both reclined on the bed, his weight held off her with both elbows, chest on hers, his hips next to her on the mattress. His eyes were downright _shining _as he studied her, hand smoothing over her cropped hair, licking his lips at the sight of her. Or so it seemed.

"Aunt Jamie," he said absently. "Finally in my bed _with _me."

She smiled, wanting to cry again for some insane reason. "Tig -"

"You'll let me give you what I promised?"

"What?"

"I promised you something nice, remember?"

Her skin lit off like wildfire. She could feel how her cheeks were blazing. "I remember." She was embarrassed that her voice shook, embarrassed that he heard it and embarrassed that it still made her all bothered to remember it.

"Good," he whispered and kissed her again before she could humiliate herself more. The kiss was slow but intense, to the point where she was winding her leg around his hip, turning her body into his to have as much of him as she could as close as possible. His hands slid under her shirt, fingers making lazy circles on her skin in such a concentrated pattern she was feeling it in other more private and sensitive places. That feeling and her own surprising passion meant she let herself get lost in the kiss, holding on for dear life and letting him sweep her away. From everything.

His hand slid up to her breast, the real one, hand cupping her along the swell of the bottom and side, pulling back from her kiss as her eyes slid closed, breathing fast. "I won't touch anything you don't want me to, okay?"

She didn't even have the ability pout and contemplate her bad luck of not being whole, all because his hand on her right breast was careful, attentive, and when he ran his thumb over her nipple her entire body jolted and she moaned, eyes flying open, her own response surprising her.

He was smiling down on her, eyes on her face. He'd been watching her react to that touch, and she knew her blush had probably increased three shades. But his thumb was still moving, and it made her scissor her legs against him.

She licked her lips, swallowing hard, eyes locked on his face. She was nervous and anticipating what he was going to do next, but it wasn't in her to _request _anything.

His hand slid into the cup of her bra to hold her breast in his palm, now rolling her nipple between a finger and his thumb very gently. Her lips parted so breathing would be easier, but the sharp thrill of what he was doing shot straight to the spot between her legs, making her writhe them more. His lips came to the side of her neck, the scruff on his chin rubbing her in a way that was definitely male.

Jamie found the courage to move her hands, one going to his shoulder, holding it tight, the other resting on his head. She was surprised at how soft his hair actually was, and she was spearing her fingers into it without thinking about it.

His hand left her breast, leaving it noticeably colder, sliding down her ribs to rest on her hip, his thumb moving back and forth along the front of her hip bone. He raised his head again, eyes hooded and heated at the same time, locking eyes before crushing his mouth on her again.

Jamie's hand tightened in his hair, her head tilting so when she parted her lips his tongue could dive in fully, stroking her mouth and lips like he was memorizing the taste of her. The motion of his tongue heated the same parts of her his hand on her breast had, and she whimpered. The need was going to make her crazy and she was dying for him to touch her where it really counted. She rolled her hips involuntarily, and he caught on.

She was suddenly on her back, his weight on her, one of his legs between her thighs. She could feel his erection pressing into her leg, and it made her jerk her hips again. He groaned low and long, moving that length against her.

Christ, it was like high school again; being so hot for someone that even dry humping was as exquisite release of sorts. His knee rode higher so his thigh was against her crotch. With his tongue in her mouth and his hand returning to her nipple, she rubbed against him again, giving another whimper.

"Fuck, Jamie," he growled into her mouth. "I've wanted you … I've wanted this for so long."

She gasped as he pinched her nipple harder, the tension in her lower belly now torturous. But still she couldn't _ask_. She didn't have the words or the nerve.

"Can I take this off?" he asked, hands sliding around to her back where her bra was clasped.

She had a moment of reluctance, then he ran his tongue along her collar bone, making her whisper, "Yes."

It was undone immediately, and she wriggled under him to get her arms out of the straps. He didn't push to get her shirt off, but he wanted to touch her and she was going to let him.

Once she had one shoulder strap off his hand grasped her breast, kneading it, still teasing her nipple but taking the weight of it against his palm. She knew he liked it; his hips bucked against her again.

The arm keeping most of his weight off her was wound under her shoulders, his hand cupping the back of her head, turning her to kiss him deeper. Her chin was rubbed raw from his in a way she really liked, so much that she didn't really notice his hand release her breast and skim along her stomach to the fly of her jeans. He ran a finger inside the waistband, his knuckle sliding back and forth across her lower belly close to an area that felt hot and swollen.

She opened her eyes to see his staring down on hers. He didn't say anything, but when he had eye contact he started unbuttoning her jeans, then pulling the zipper downwards. His eyes were on her face, waiting for her to say stop.

She licked her lips.

He did the same as her zipper was open all the way. Then his hand was inside her pants, cupping her through her panties. She gasped, and he closed his eyes as his fingers pressed close. Jamie could feel how wet she was then, which undoubtedly made her face go even further into the red. He slid two fingers down then up, her underwear in the way, creating friction.

Her hand left his shoulder to dig into the arm that had her panting. When his eyes opened again it looked as though he expected her to say stop. She took a deep breath, giving him the eye contact he wanted, then moved against his hand.

He rose up higher on his arm, half-rolling off her, then pulled his hand away. She tightened her grip which made him smile. "Jamie, I ain't leaving it like that. Don't worry," he murmured with a chuckle and her face grew warmer yet.

He tucked that hand in under her panties, and she moved her hips and widened her thighs, breathing heavier before his hand was even where she wanted it.

When those fingers _did _slide down between heated folds she gave a gasp, head going back. His mouth fell on her throat with a groan, kissing and sucking along her skin. But she didn't feel it because the rough pads of his fingers were moving across her clit, slick with her own wetness, and she felt the agony of an orgasmic build-up.

She was whimpering in rhythm with him, and when he slid two fingers inside she felt herself come apart, her feet rising off the mattress, toes curling, back arching, biting her lip to not holler out. She trembled and shook after, her breathing sounding ragged. Her eyes flickered open, taking in his face as he gazed down on her so sweetly she wouldn't have believed it possible. How incredibly …


	36. Chapter 35

**Okay, ATTN: "lassie" - get your phone under control before proceeding. **

* * *

… _perfect._

Tig felt like he came when she did. With his fingers still buried inside her she turned her face toward his, looking soft and content.

His lowered his mouth to hers gently and she responded hungrily, hand sliding up along the back of his neck to keep him close, that fucking sweet mouth on his like candy.

"I gotta taste you," he moaned, shocking himself because he certainly didn't mean to say it out loud.

Her eyes got bright, and her cheeks reddened, which was so fucking adorable he nearly forgot his hand was still inside her. He removed his fingers, watching her eyes close and her breath hitch as he did it. He sat back on his heels between her legs, pulling down on her jeans and panties, taking them both off at once. She covered the juncture of her thighs with one hand, legs slamming shut as soon as her pants were off her ankles.

It made him chuckle again, and he took in how her skin goose pimpled when he did it. "Are you cold?"

"No," she whispered, then repeated louder. "No. I'm fine."

He stretched up over her, elbow next to her head, hand resting along her neck. "Is it okay if I do this?"

"What … what are you doing?"

He ran his nose along hers, keeping his tone low and private, just like hers, right where he wanted her. "I'm going to go down on you, Jamie. Like I just said, I gotta taste you."

"You _want_ to do that?"

He raised his eyebrows. "I'm starving for it, Jamie."

Her eyes were fevered on his, scanning his face before nodding.

He kissed her mouth, teasing at her tongue again, careful to keep his hand on her right breast, pulling at her nipple to make her cry out softly. Then he dropped his head to her belly, kissing that warm soft skin all the way down, stopping to pull her knees apart, getting down on his elbows in front of her, running his eyes along her private skin, looking up to see her watching him. He gave her a smile.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered before striking out with his tongue softly once to see if she was with him.

One foot jerked up next to him then dropped. She panted. Yeah, she was so with him.

He closed his mouth over her clit, letting his tongue work in circles slow and soft. Her hips were moving with him. He didn't suck, didn't speed up, he just added his fingers and was rewarded with a very female, very _satisfied _moan.

He refused to roughen up his treatment. As heated as he was, as much as he wanted to get rid of his own jeans and plunge into her deep, he was still remarkably in control of himself. He wanted to feel her come like this, with his fingers inside and his mouth tasting her gently. The combination was like a leash on him.

The orgasm surprised them both. Her hips bucked but he was already holding her in place, her legs writhing along his arms. She was mewing, the sounds matching the contractions he felt along his fingers. He softened his tongue's attentions, only stopping when she was quiet and still.

He kissed her stomach. Her chest over the T-shirt. Her neck. She turned her head in time to meet his lips, both her hands fisting in his hair. Her legs wrapped around his waist and he knew then she was his.

He could take her.

To come to this after so long dancing around each other, pretending they didn't want each other. Culminating right now, with her in his bed, willing and warm. She wanted this before chemo, he knew that. She wanted this before she got sick and lost her hair and a lot of weight …

He pulled his head back, hand on her stomach. There was panic in his chest, and he didn't like it. He didn't want her to get that sick. He didn't want her to go through all that shit.

Fuck, she could die. He could lose her completely.

"Tig," her voice was still thick with want. "What's wrong?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but he was locked on her eyes, how bright they were. Alive and gorgeous and vibrant. Fuck, he didn't want to lose any of her, actually.

"Tig?" Her tone told him she was sensing something amiss.

Fuck, how did he stop now? How could he stop without absolutely embarrassing her? Shit, he couldn't do this.

"Jamie," he mumbled, lowering his forehead down to hers and closing his eyes.

"Is something wrong?" Christ, she was worried about him.

He _was _a fucking asshole.

"Shit, Jamie. I … we can't do this."

The pause felt like she struck him before she asked, "What?"

"I shouldn't do this. I … I don't want to hurt you."

"_Hurt_ me?" she hissed, scrambling out from under him flying off the bed and grabbing at her clothes. "Hurt me," she repeated, annoyed, still breathless but now plenty angry, clumsily pulling on her jeans. "Don't fucking look at me," she snapped, doing up her fly.

"Jamie, it's not because you're -"

"Incomplete? Of course not .You'll fuck anything with a hole, but that _isn't _about _this,"_ she spat back while slapping her chest.

"I care about you, babe -"

"Don't do that. Don't fucking do that. Don't call me babe as you lie to me." She was struggling to get her bra on under her shirt.

He stared at the bedspread, heart feeling like about ten thousand pounds of concrete. "I care about you, Jamie. You … you shouldn't be with someone like me."

She got the bra done up and was headed for the door in the meantime. But before she got there she spun around. "It's not me, it's you? Give me a break, Tig. I just wanted to get laid. To have something fun happen to _me _before I go off to the world of chemotherapy. That's all. You think I'm here falling in love with you? Don't fucking flatter yourself."

Then she was gone. The anger she left behind stung, it cut to the quick and she might not believe it but he felt each word.

That was good, though. If she was pissed, she'd stay away. And now he was only half-worried that he'd find ways to hurt her worse once she was even deeper under his skin. He'd take that pain gladly to keep it from her.

He was just too fucking scared to let her matter more than she already did, and that was the brutal truth.

He got to his feet like a broken man, pushed his way into the bathroom and turned the tap on the sink. He washed his hands thoroughly to get rid of her, then scrubbed at his face with both hands as well. When the smell and taste of her was gone, only the tingle of sweet along his jaw and up the back of his neck, he returned to the bedroom, picked up his shirt, grabbed his keys and locked up his house.

He climbed on the Dyna, not wanting to ride the bike that Calvin helped him build now, kicking it to life loudly and taking off down the street headed for the clubhouse.

Such a fucking asshole. He knew very damn well that girl deserved better than him. But he was a selfish prick, and he knew how to be nice to a woman just enough to get her curious and interested. He'd pulled that on Jamie and she didn't fucking deserve it.

It looked as though most of the club was assembled for the evening. He parked in line with the other SAMCRO bikes, climbed off and headed for the clubhouse door. Chibs was smoking on a patio table outside, bottle of beer dangling between his knees. As Tig approached he heard the Scot chuckling.

"Bedtime for that sweet little neighbour of yours come and gone then?" he quipped.

"Fuck you," Tig muttered as he stalked past.

"Don't be so sensitive, Tiggy. I think this slip of gash is making you irritable."

Like before, the anger struck like a black out and before he knew it his fist was stinging like a bitch and Chibs was on his back on the ground, cradling his jaw with one hand. He'd dropped the smoke but managed to keep his beer upright and unbroken.

The Scot set the bottle on the seat he'd been sitting on and stood slowly, cranking his jaw to the side and looking up at Tig under his lowered brow. Tig knew that look, it was as pissed-off-looking at the bastard got.

"You want a fight then?"

"You don't hit someone if you don't want a fight," Tig replied hollowly.

"I owe you for earlier, too," the asshole reminded him.

Tig just set his jaw and waited.

Chibs gave him a moment, looked him up and down, then shrugged one shoulder. "All right then," he conceded before connecting a left hook with Tig's jaw.

He may have been getting a touch slower in his old age, like Tig was, but Chibs still packed a hell of a punch. Stars lit off in Tig's head, and he righted himself with some difficulty, shaking his dome and bringing his hands up. "Not bad," he admitted.

_It's not me, it's you? Give me a break, Tig. _

Another hook, but Tig answered with a jab to Chibs' gut that he was ready for, his stomach tightened before Tig got there.

_I just wanted to get laid. _

Another hook he didn't even try to evade, white lights fading the world again momentarily.

_You'll fuck anything with a hole, but that isn't about this. _

He stood stock still for the fourth hit, a bitch of a jab that caught his cheekbone.

_You think I'm here falling in love with you? Don't fucking flatter yourself._

Tig hit the ground on one knee, hearing Chibs' heavy breathing as he circled away muttering "Fucking hell," to himself.

"Thanks," Tig muttered, his voice sounding thick. He spat, and it was bloody.

"Fuck you," Chibs said, but with affection. He crouched in front of Tig, hand on his shoulder. "What the hell's wrong?"

"I think I'm fucking broken."

"Broken how?"

"I fucked it up with Jamie."

Chibs sighed. "What'd you do?"

He shook his head. "God, I wanted her. I wanted her so fucking bad."

"You didn't hurt her?"

He couldn't be mad at Chibs for asking. "No, I did worse. I … left." His raised his eyes to Chibs'. "She was saying yes and I … said no."

Chibs' weight eased back onto his heels and he exhaled. "Ah, Tiggy," he said, and that was it.

"I know." Tig got to his feet so Chibs did too, but Tig rolled his shoulders back, trying to reassert some _man _into his spine. "She won't forgive me. It took a lot to get close and …"

Chibs regarded him silently, tongue working in his cheek as he was thinking something over. "I can't help with this," Chibs finally said. "You need to talk to something with a vagina."

Tig blew out a breath. "I need to get drunk," he corrected. "Completely mindlessly drunk so I don't even get up tomorrow."

Chibs nodded, slapping his shoulder. "All right, _that _I can help with."

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome!**


	37. Chapter 36

"Jamie? Honey, open the door. Please sweetheart, tell me what happened."

Jamie could only shake her head, curled up in a ball in the corner of her tiny bathroom, trying not to make any noise with her sobbing. It hurt. It made it harder to stay quiet.

Aunt Thelma sounded ready to form a lynch mob. "What did he do? Jamie, answer the door. I'm sorry I told you to go over there. Just tell me what happened."

She was embarrassed. Humiliated. Mortified. And still really turned on. Jamie squeezed her eyes shut, dug her nails into her palms and forced herself to pull it together. Racing into the house in tears and refusing to speak was hardly a constructive activity. She had to grow the fuck up.

She stood, made sure her clothes were properly arranged, then pulled the door open. "It's nothing," she whispered, the emotion in her voice totally betraying her.

"What did he do?" Aunt Thelma _did _look ready for battle.

"Nothing. He didn't _do _anything wrong. That's the fucking problem," she whimpered as her face crumbled up.

"What happened, honey?"

"He wanted me. I really thought he did."

"So why are you over here?"

"He said … we shouldn't do it."

Aunt Thelma's eyes widened. "Oh dear."

"Tried to tell me it wasn't because of the surgery but … he _wanted_ me, Aunt Thelma. I could … I could _tell_," she said, not so ambiguously that Thelma wouldn't get her meaning.

"But he's worried about you," Thelma finished.

"That's what he _said_."

"Oh dear," she said for the second time. "It's more serious than I thought."

"What?"

"He cares about you, Jamie. It's not just about a fun roll in the hay. I'm sorry, that's what I thought was going on with you two. I mean, usually you don't get kissed like _that _if it's more than attraction but I guess … not all men are created equal."

She covered her face. "Aunt _Thelma_!"

"What? I'm sorry. I really thought that was it. But he cares, Jamie. That's something else entirely." Her face softened when she pulled Jamie's hands away. "Honey, that's a good thing, too. It's nice to know someone cares about my niece, other than just me. I think he could take good care of you."

"Are you insane? I'm … sick."

"And getting better."

"Thelma, I'm … dying."

Thelma looked like Jamie had struck her.

"I am," Jamie kept going, voice shaking, the dam broken and all kinds of shit flooding out. "There's no _getting involved _with someone that's going to die. That's insane."

"Jamie, you're going to get through -"

"I'm not going to kick this because I'm _not _strong enough. I'm not special enough to have that happen for me. And everyone hoping that I get better is … going to be horribly disappointed, even if it _is _only two people in the whole world."

Thelma shut the door, turned around just in time to see Jamie retreat to the corner to curl up in a ball and wait to die. "Listen to me," Thelma whispered. "I don't know what you're going through. You know that. Calvin doesn't know what you're going through. That man next door _certainly _doesn't know. But don't make the rest of us feel guilty for that."

"Why do I have to make everyone else feel better?"

"You don't, Jamie. You have to count on us for support and know that we're here for you."

She just covered her face.

"And you're not allowed to make us feel bad for caring about you. That is _one _thing you do _not _get to do."

Jamie dropped her hands, so shocked she had no idea what to say. She even stopped crying.

"You keep this up and it's going to piss me off, but I can deal with it. I'm an adult. You will scare the shit out of Calvin with it, though. And _that _I will not let happen. You're tougher than this, so just … straighten the fuck _up, _Jamie."

That stung. That _really _stung.

"I'm so sorry we're worried about you. I'm so sorry we want what's best for you. I'm so _sorry_ there's a man next door that really cares about you. You're right. You've got it _rough_." Then she spun, yanked the door open and left, not closing it behind her.

She'd never seen Thelma so angry. Fuck, that really made her feel like shit.

Jamie got up, washed her face, brushed her teeth, and wished she could lock herself in her room. But she _couldn't_. Because the only functioning bathroom in the house was off of her bedroom

She really wanted to throw things. But instead, she got her pyjamas on, crawled into bed, and didn't sleep a wink.

…

"So, that was it for radiation," Doctor Foster pleasantly reminded her as he entered his office where she was already waiting, dressed and ready to head to Thelma's for the week.

"Yeah," she nodded, hands fidgeting in her lap. "Too bad. I think I was finally getting used to it."

He just grinned, taking his seat behind the desk. "Now, your chemotherapy treatments are done in another wing of the hospital. Doctor Greg is taking over your file for that portion of your care, but he and I will be talking regularly."

She nodded while he opened a file.

"The chemotherapy will have side effects, and I know you are likely familiar with what they are."

"Yeah," she mumbled. "Google told me all about it."

"It's imperative that you keep food down, Jamie. Your body will need the strength to fight. So I'm going to ask you now, do you want a prescription for medical marijuana?"

Her eyes popped wide, she knew it.

"Not everyone wants it, but I have to say it has done wonders for my past patients. You can bake it into things, add it to recipes, and it will keep the nausea away."

"I'm going to try toughing it out first," she said, dropping her eyes to her hands in her lap. "I don't … I don't know if I want that in my house. There's a nine-year-old boy living with me, after all."

"Oh, your son?"

Jamie frowned. She was _sure _she'd told Doctor Foster about Calvin. "No, my nephew."

"Oh, that's right. I'm sorry. Charlie?"

Jamie almost laughed at that, but then felt a bit of hurt. "No. Calvin."

"Right, Calvin. No, I understand. But if you change your mind, I _do _recommend it."

"Thank you," she replied awkwardly.

"I encourage you to get lots of rest this next week. Be strong for the next step, and I think you're going to do fine."

Jamie smiled, getting to her feet. "Thank you again, Doctor Foster."

He stood and circled the desk, making for the door. She followed. Before he got there he turned, smiled at her, then offered her a hug. Half confused, half embarrassed Jamie let him hug her, keeping her shoulders scrunched forward to put room between them.

"You're going to be fine, Jamie," he said warmly, then held her at arms' length. "You're such a beautiful woman."

Jamie felt her blood get a bit cold. This felt really wrong.

"You're going to come through this fine," he assured her, then moved to kiss her.

She was stunned. Stuck in one place. Knowing this was inappropriate.

And yet she _should _like this. He was cute, and a doctor besides? Good lord, it was like hitting the jackpot. But all Jamie could think about was the fact that his hands were far too polite as they held her upper arms, and his lips were too baby-soft. He smelled like soap and tasted like toothpaste. Far too … clean.

She backed away, covering her mouth and looking at the ground in a stupefied pause.

"Shit," he whispered. At least he seemed mortified over what he had done. "Jamie, please forgive me. That was … that was uncalled for. And unprofessional. I am so sorry."

"I have to go," she mumbled, reaching for the door.

"Jamie, I'm so sorry."

She waved a hand and walked past Doctor Foster's waiting room, head down, not watching where she was going. She made it all the way to the sliding doors without incident, but as she got there they opened and she was careening into someone who caught her and kept her upright by the arm.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, knowing she was turning pink.

"Jamie?"

She brought her head up, stomach sinking. "Gemma."

Her new shopping pal tilted her head but didn't let her arm go. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine. Last radiation treatment. We're … heading to my Aunt's farm for a week."

Gemma nodded. "Sounds ... nice."

"Yeah," she said after an incredibly weird pause.

Gemma's eyes narrowed. "What's wrong?"

_Shit, you want that alphabetical or chronologically_? Jamie thought, but what she said was, "What do you mean?"

"You're freaking out. What happened?"

She inhaled slowly. "My doctor just made a pass at me," she blurted. "I … walked away."

Gemma's face darkened. "What?"

"It was fine, he kissed me but knew right away it was a mistake … he didn't force me or hurt me or anything. It's … fine."

The other woman crossed her arms. "You going to tell Tig about this?"

Jamie shook her head. "Trust me Gemma, Tig doesn't care. Now, I have to get going. I'm sorry, really, but if I'm late they'll worry about me …" she side-stepped the woman and made for her car, wishing she could find a way to muzzle herself. When did she start spilling her guts out? That wasn't like her at all.

She had to go back to just keeping her private shit _private._

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome!**


	38. Chapter 37

"Get the hell up or I swear to Christ I'm breaking that thing off."

Tig cracked one eye open, his head pounding like a drum line and Gemma staring down at him, arms crossed, looking like one incredibly pissed off bitch. He groaned, rubbing his forehead. "Gem? What time is it?"

"It's about the time I kick your ass. You're talking to me _now_. And get rid of her, too."

Tig's head went to the right, a blonde crow eater just waking up and even more scared of Gemma than he was. "What the hell?" he sputtered. "Get out."

"You passed out, I just slept here," she whimpered.

"Get out," he repeated in unison with Gemma.

"I'm naked."

"Sweetheart, everyone's already seen it. Now get _out_," Gemma repeated, voice stone-cold serious.

The piece climbed out of bed, scooping her clothes off the floor. It gave the perfect view of her round, firm ass and he groaned again.

Right, _now _he remembered that Scottish bastard pouring tequila shots down his throat in rapid succession and _not _stopping him bringing this bitch back to his dorm room.

Shit. Tig was pretty sure he was going to be sick.

The blonde gone, Gemma slammed the door. It made him wince, rubbing his head again. "Gemma, take it easy. I'm fucking hung over."

"You're an _idiot _is what you are."

He happened to agree, but wasn't sure what she had as proof this time.

Gemma pointed at the door. "Why is there some skank in your bed when that little sweetheart is living right next door to you and ready to feel better about herself?"

"What?" Shit, she was really going to have to slow down so he could jump on track here.

"I went to the hospital to see Abel today. Ran into Jamie. She was all done up, wearing make-up, hair looking all cute as hell. Great outfit. Looking like a million bucks. And you're here? With _that_?"

Tig frowned. "She looked good, huh?"

"Yeah, she looked fantastic. Good enough that her doctor put the moves on her."

That made him sit up with a growl. "What?"

Gemma smirked. "So you _do _give a shit after all."

He was busted so he ignored that. "Gemma, she's too … _good_. And I'm not."

"I asked if she was going to tell you about the doctor and she assured me that you would not _care._ Why'd she say that?"

"I pissed her off." He scrubbed his face with both hands. "I pissed her off to push her away and it … it likely hurt her."

"What happened?"

"Gem -"

"_Tig_," she threw his tone back at him.

He sighed, eyes closed. "Coulda slept with her. I told her it was a bad idea. Fuck, I really wanted to though."

Gemma's presence got _quieter_ and Tig dared to open his eyes. Her face still said she was angry, but her eyes were softer. "Oh Tiggy, you didn't."

"I had her there, willing. Fucking perfect. And I sent her away."

Gemma's inhale was regretful. "Baby, girls don't like to feel that they're not pretty enough."

"That's _not _what it was about."

"But that's our vulnerability. So when the _guy_ puts on the brakes, we assume the imperfections we see every day are the reason for it. And you know what she sees when she looks in the mirror."

"She was so angry," he conceded, voice hollow, staring at the wall.

Gemma sat on the bed next to him and he double-checked to make sure his business centre was all covered up. It was, thank God. Otherwise it was in immediate danger.

"I like her, baby. And you _know_ I don't like _anyone_. And I happen to think you're a better man when you've got someone you care about." Gemma shook her head. "Shit."

"It's better for her, Gem."

"Except she likes you. Otherwise she wouldn't be so upset."

"She'll find someone better."

Gemma stood, hitching the strap of her purse up. "Why are men such idiots?" she mumbled and made for the door, leaving him wondering the same thing.

…

"Pink? I don't even have pink paint."

Tig sighed. "I understand, man. Just get some. It's a surprise for the kid. He wants a pink bike."

"Who is this kid?" Rash asked, eyebrow raised. Tig knew what his next question was going to be.

"Hey – don't even start that. His aunt has breast cancer, okay? He wants it pink for her."

Rash sighed, scratching his balding scalp. "Like … what kind of pink? Hot pink? Barbie pink? Mary Kay pink?"

"Think classic car, candy pink," Tig said. "Just … make it nice, you know?"

Road Rash sighed, then offered his hand. "You got it. I'll call when I get the paint in."

"Thanks man," Tig returned, shaking the offered mitt.

"I got one more coat of black on your bike, and the chrome will be back by the end of the week."

"Perfect."

"And the pink bike. I'll only charge for the paint. My mom had breast cancer. Tell the kid … he's a pretty tough little fucker. Willing to ride a pink bike around."

Tig grinned. "Okay. Thanks man."

"Take care, Tig."

"You too, man."

Road Rash was so named because of a terrible bike accident he'd had at twenty-three. He never stopped riding, even though he had about five wipe-outs. All he ever got was horrible scarring, not a single broken bone. So he wore the nickname Road Rash proudly.

He was also a fucking wicked paint guy.

Before he could swing a leg over his Dyna his cell rang. He pulled it out, flipped it open. "Yeah?"

"We found the dealer that sold to Trixie," a Scottish voice told him without greeting.

"Yeah? Where?"

"We're in that shithole apartment building over on Shepherd. But … ah, shite. I think you better come over."

Tig smirked. "Having trouble with one skinny white kid?"

"Just get here 'ya bastard."

"On my way."

Black bikes were lined up outside the building so he knew he was at the right one. He cast a look both ways along the sidewalk at the front, but it was remarkably quiet. Which was nerve-racking considering this was a block off of Main and one of the busier streets in Charming.

Half-Sack was watching the front door, giving Tig a silent nod and holding it open for him. "They're on the third floor," he muttered. Tig wondered why the kid was so quiet; usually he wouldn't shut up.

Tig took the stairs two at a time, pushed through the third floor fire doors and found two SAMCRO kuttes in the hallway. Bobby nodded his head into the room, and Happy gave him a couple of raised eyebrows. "You ain't gonna believe this, man."

Tig frowned, making his way into the fleabag apartment, finding himself in a small, cramped kitchen with sticky linoleum floor and a three-bulb fixture only putting out one-third of its potential. It stunk, Christ it stunk in here. The smell was acrid, like cleaning solutions set on fire.

He passed through the grim kitchen, stepping onto faded carpet that felt like gravel under his boots it was so matted up. A sagging couch took up most of the room, and standing in front of it smoking a cigarette was Chibs. He pulled the smoke from his lips, exhaled, and nodded his head to the hallway. "Confirm what's in that bedroom."

Fuck, what was with all the cloak-and-dagger theatrics? When did everyone stop telling him shit straight?

Getting supremely pissed off, he headed down the hallway and next saw Jax in the doorway of a room that had the windows well-sealed, the only light from a bare bulb overhead.

A man had his hands tied behind his back against the wall, a sock shoved in his mouth. He was covered in scabs and bruises, and it didn't take doctor to peg him as a tweaker. Tig didn't recognize him, but he was scrawny, white, and had a black swastika on the side of his neck. Wearing only white boxers, he looked like he might top the scales at ninety-five pounds.

Jax tilted his head to the only "furniture" in the room, a mattress shoved against the old-school radiator. A woman was handcuffed to it, arms over her head, which was resting on its side on the bare mattress, a small pool of thin vomit next to her face.

Not shocking on its own, until he recognized her. "Fuck," he muttered. "That's Jamie's sister."

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome - and have a great weekend guys!**


	39. Chapter 38

Jamie woke to the sound of two roosters crowing at different tempos, wincing. Right, she'd forgotten about Thelma's roosters.

It was two days after her final radiation treatment. Three full nights of restless sleep since her awful humiliation at Tig's house and subsequent melt down in front of Aunt Thelma. Jamie honestly had no idea how she would go back to Charming now, even if she had no choice.

She had to admit to herself at the very least that she was _not _okay. She could smile, joke with Calvin and help Aunt Thelma pickle beets all she wanted. Inside, deep down, she was _not _okay, and only she could fix it. She just had no idea _how_.

Jamie also owed Tig an apology, but that was as appealing a thought as a quick dip in a vat of fire ants. She cringed to remember the things she'd said to him. God, she'd been terrible. And Aunt Thelma was right; it wasn't that he _didn't _care. It was because he did, and she'd really been a bitch about it. All because she couldn't deal.

She had no right to be so furious he stopped either; what he had given her had been absolutely amazing all on its own. And God knows he couldn't have been using her, he'd gotten nothing out of it. And it had truly been better than any other similar experience of her entire life. Yes, she'd been with men before, had orgasms before. But to be so overwhelmed by desire while trusting the person she was with without question? She had never been able to let herself go like that. Tig made it okay, didn't make her feel ashamed of it. He just wanted anything else they did to be as special.

It brought tears to her eyes, to be honest. Remembering it right then, warm from sleep and even _warmer _from what she'd just been dreaming about, she nearly cried. Every night since then she'd been dreaming about _him._ And she didn't believe he want anything to do with her now, not with that dreadful hissy fit she threw.

Groaning at her embarrassing _femaleness, _she threw her covers off her legs and sat up, stretching out the stiffness of sleep and trying to push the thoughts of her neighbour from her head. She had five more days to sort herself out and plan an apology. And rest; she really needed to get her rest.

"Feeling better?" Thelma greeted her in the kitchen. It was misleading. She was still kinda short with Jamie over their standoff in the bathroom. Jamie was trying to make amends but Aunt Thelma was tough.

"I'm fine. You need help with anything today?"

"Nope, get your rest dear," she sang out before the patio door banged shut behind her.

Jamie winced. Thelma still wasn't talking to her. Great.

The house was completely silent. She knew Calvin was likely hard at work feeding chickens or something. Or shelling peas. All the stuff that used to get delegated to her and Jaclyn when they were little.

It was funny, but coming here had her thinking of Jaclyn a lot. The room she was staying in was the room she and Jaclyn had always shared. Aunt Thelma hadn't changed a piece of furniture since then, so it was like a time capsule of sorts. This place swam with so many memories of her parents and her sister that it was honestly hard to breathe at times.

Jamie had barely taken a moment to worry about Jaclyn since she'd last vanished. Jamie was used to the disappearing act by now. The first few dozen times it happened she'd lost sleep wondering what that crazy woman had gotten herself into. Now she just … waited for her to show up out of nowhere or a stranger to call saying she was dead.

And now, instead of worrying, here she was remembering the time they snuck out when Thelma was sleeping to chase glowbugs. They took Mason jars with them and headed out at something like one in the morning. Thelma had gotten up for a drink of water, found them gone and called the Sherriff's department. They'd had dogs tracking them and everything. Two little girls in nightgowns, showing up in a clearing, faced with barking dogs, clutching glowing jars and nearly pissing themselves because they were in _so much trouble_.

That had been Jamie's idea, not Jaclyn's.

She smiled at the memory, then covered her mouth and gave a sob.

Oh God, she had no idea where her little sister was. Where her thoughts of Jaclyn were coming from she had no idea, but her heart froze in its place and she had to gasp to breathe, tears in her eyes. So when the phone rang she sobbed, covering her face with both hands and she _knew_. She just knew.

It rang three times before she got there. Her hand was trembling, and when she picked up the receiver she had to close her eyes for composure. "Hello?"

"Is this Thelma Reece?"

"No, she's out in the yard. Can …" she swallowed. "Can I give her a message?"

"Is she related to a Jaclyn Mackenzie Taylor?"

Her knees gave, and luckily the phone was mounted on the wall next to a vinyl padded kitchen chair, because she just barely made it to the edge. "Yes," Jamie said. "I'm … I'm Jaclyn's sister."

"Your sister was just rushed to the emergency room at St. Thomas Hospital in Charming."

She was already sobbing so it couldn't get worse for the person on the other end to understand her. "Is … is she going to be okay?"

There was a pause. "She's been admitted, she's in intensive care."

"Okay," Jamie mumbled, wiping her eyes and sitting up straighter. "Thank you. We're on our way."

She hung up the phone, waited a moment to stop crying, then stood and headed out through the screen door into the rear yard, eyes scanning for a sign of where Thelma might have gone. She caught sight of her in her long red skirt and bright yellow blouse, carrying a bucket towards the chicken coop.

Jamie started her way, arms wrapped around her stomach, her heart hammering like she was all-out sprinting to catch her. When she was half-way to the chickens she started shouting for her, and even if she was weaker than usual her tone carried far enough to alert Thelma something was wrong.

Thelma set the bucket down and headed her way, terse expression and annoyance now gone.

"Jamie? Honey? What in the world is wrong?"

That's when Jamie realized she'd started crying again. "The hospital in Charming just called," she blubbered, taking a gasping breath between words. "Jaclyn's there. She's in ICU. We have to go."

Thelma was a rock for her right then. "Okay honey, you go back to the house, get ready. I'll go get Calvin."

Jamie was nodding and heading back to the house, trotting slightly until she didn't have the breath for it and walking rapidly the rest of the way. She headed upstairs, pulling on jeans and keeping her sweatshirt on, adding her bra for comfort's sake. She grabbed her purse, tossing her pills inside in case they were there for the night, then heading to the room Jamie and Jaclyn's parents shared when they'd visit Thelma. She went through the nightstand for Calvin's inhaler, couldn't find it, decided he likely had it on him, and grabbed the book he'd been reading, shoving it in her purse in case he got bored.

By then she heard Thelma coming up the stairs. "Jamie honey? You ready to go?"

"Yes," she responded, meeting her aunt in the landing.

"Okay. Come on, honey. She's going to be fine. Let's go."

…

On the trip to Charming Calvin was upsettingly quiet, watching the world pass by the truck windows as Thelma drove. Jamie kept him tucked into her side, under her arm, her cheek resting on the top of his head. She told herself repeatedly there was no point worrying until they knew for _certain _what had happened. It was a hard sell, but it was keeping her calm.

The hour stretched terribly long, but as soon as they hit Charming town limits the truck was at the hospital in an instant. Thelma dropped them at the doors, Calvin and Jamie heading in while she searched for a parking spot.

They found ICU with the help of a nurse and directions on the walls. Passing through a set of double doors it struck Jamie that now they were in the very quiet part of the hospital, which meant this was serious. No visiting families hanging around, no TVs in the rooms.

At the desk a nurse told them where Jackie was, pointing with a pen. They followed the stark white corridor, turning a corner. Jamie halted when she noticed someone standing outside a door, completely at odds with the clean, sterile white walls and floor. Dressed in black, a crazed shock of black hair on his head and stubble on his face. Tig's face turned their way just as she realized who it was.

Her sister was in intensive care, who knew what for. And in spite of all that she still had a momentary thrill seeing him, which immediately faded to humiliation. The last time she'd seen him she'd said ugly things right after he'd … well … It was amazing how embarrassment and shame can overshadow what was really important.

"Tig!" Calvin cried, pulling away from her hand on his shoulder and rushing at their neighbour, nearly climbing him with dexterity she didn't realize he had.

"Hey buddy," Tig said, terribly quiet, hands on Calvin's back, letting him hang off of him and hugging him in return. "Missed you, pal."

Calvin was crying. It was silent, but Jamie could tell by how he was shaking. Tig rubbed his narrow, bony back, giving him a squeeze and finally making eye contact with her.

She held her breath. After a moment he nodded, which she mirrored back. She made her way towards them at a regular pace, arms around her middle again.

"Hi," she said, voice small and unsure.

"She OD'd," Tig said, and Jamie was wishing he hadn't said that in front of Calvin but … Calvin would know eventually. "We found her in a dealer's apartment."

Jamie nodded, surprised that he had been somehow involved _again_ with her sister's stupidity. She stood there as he held her nephew, able to comfort him better than she could. At least with this drama it was only about eighty-percent as awkward seeing him as it normally might be.

"We've been watching the room," Tig continued. "These aren't good people. And she owes them a lot of money, Jamie."

Her stomach sank. It wasn't bad enough her sister was unconscious, she was also in danger from outside forces? Then she absorbed that he'd been watching the room, protecting Jaclyn when he certainly didn't have to.

"Come on buddy," Tig said, tone much more friendly with Calvin. "Let's find the doctor, see if she'll let you see your mom. Yeah?"

"Okay," Calvin sputtered, wiping his eyes as Tig set him back on his feet. Calvin's face was red, likely from embarrassment for crying in front of their neighbour. Tig didn't seem to care, he just held a hand out which Calvin grabbed onto. Then they set off together, in the opposite direction than she'd just come from.

Feeling strangely out of place, Jamie leaned against the wall, listening to the soft beeping and hissing of life-support equipment.

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome!**


	40. Chapter 39

The kid's grip on his hand was almost painful, not that Tig would admit it. Tig was hurting in a different way; all because of Aunt Jamie. _Again_.

He really didn't want her away from him. No matter what he said or how he behaved, he didn't want her anywhere other than right by him so he could look out for her. And not just to fuck her, which was the real kick in the head. If that had been the case he wouldn't have thrown her out of bed the other night for _anything_.

Which had to mean he'd missed her.

Not to mention she looked great, too. When she saw him she blushed, likely on account of what happened the last time they'd been alone together. He knew _he_ was absolutely remembering the smell of that soft skin deep in his head, the sound of her whimpering his name, the way she trusted him enough to get into his bed. The feel of everything she let him touch.

He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose at the onset of a headache. The kind of headache that you get because of an urge to beat your head against a brick wall just to reset your circuits.

The doctor that had been checking on Calvin's mom saw them coming, finished talking to a nurse and set her on her way before facing him.

"Mister Trager," she said, instantly on edge from his constant pestering. "I can't tell you anything. You know this. I can only release medical information to a family member."

"I don't want details," he nearly cut her off. "This is her kid. He wants to see her."

The doctor blinked a couple times, eyes sliding down to Calvin, who pushed his broken glasses up his nose to look back at her, holding Tig's hand right close to his body.

"Oh," the doctor said, taken by surprise.

"And her sister is here now, too. You can fill _her _in on what's going on."

The doctor nodded business-like. "All right. Let's go. Ummm … I'm Doctor Cleary," she said brightly, hands on her knees as she stooped down eye-level with the kid. "What's your name?"

"I'm Calvin," he said with a sniffle, and Tig squeezed his hand to let him know it was all okay. The doctor saw it as she straightened up. Something in her face got a bit softer, but Tig wasn't in a mood to stew on that.

They followed the doc down the corridor to Calvin's mom's room, and now Aunt Jamie was standing next to Thelma, who was quite surprised to see Tig.

"Okay," Doctor Cleary said, getting into bedside manner mode. "Who would like to see her first?"

"Calvin," Tig said, pushing his way into the role of authority figure. With the way that little hand was gripping his he'd be damned if the kid was waiting a single second to see his mom. He looked down to Calvin's up-turned face. "You want Aunt Jamie or Aunt Thelma with you, buddy?"

"You," Calvin said pathetically, clutching his hand tighter again.

"Nah man, they're family -"

"You," he repeated sternly, his tone sounding a lot like Aunt Jamie when she way laying down the law.

Tig checked with Thelma and Jamie silently. Jamie's eyes were watering up, but Thelma was nodding. "Go ahead, Tig. We'll wait right out here."

Tig was cool with the idea right up until that door closed behind them. One look at the form on the bed and he had a really _bad _feeling. A machine was breathing for her. That was never a good sign. A monitor was beeping along with her heart, and a huge tube was taped to her mouth, shoved down her throat to force air into her lungs. Wires were running into the hospital gown all over. And it was quiet in that room. There were no chairs. The only thing the family could really do in this situation was say a few words and leave, because there wasn't a lot going on with the person taking up the space.

Tig had been hanging outside the room on and off the past day and a bit. Calvin's mom only got here because Jax called in an anonymous 911 on her, the rest of SAMCRO taking the dealer shit stain with them. Then Tig started hanging out, wondering if this Tiny bastard was the kind to kill to collect on a debt.

He heard the doctors; he knew she was pretty fucked up. They were worried about brain function. And like he'd noticed, she wasn't breathing on her own. To Tig it seemed like they were basically keeping her around to ask the family if they should yank the power cord.

Tig wasn't going to say that, though.

Calvin let go of his hand and approached the bed, on the side his mom's face was sort of tilted towards. He was taking careful steps and made no noise, he just stood against the rails, hands resting on them lightly, chewing his lip.

"Mom?" the kid whispered, and Tig had to turn around. He pressed his finger and thumb into the corner of his eyes, fighting down the sting that had suddenly kicked in. What was _this _now? Christ. He should check a calendar and see if he was getting his period or something.

"It's okay. I know you love me. I love you, too. But I'm going to be okay."

Nope, jamming up his eyes didn't help. Tig's nose prickled, and he felt water squeeze around his fingers despite his attempt to stop it. He took a few steadying breaths, jumping a bit when he felt Calvin take his hand again. He wiped his eyes and sniffed a couple times, swiping at his nose, too.

"You all right, kid?" Tig asked, like he wasn't the one springing leaks all over.

Calvin nodded, his lip trembling. "I feel bad," he shared on a whisper. "I wasn't even worried about where she was."

Tig crouched down to his heels, turning Calvin to face him. "Listen Charlie, I don't know what to do here. I don't know what to tell you. All I know is, you're right. You're going to be _fine_. You got two ladies outside who'll tear down walls to keep you safe. They care about you _so_ much."

"And you?" the kid whispered next.

Fuck, the fucking waterworks again. Tig didn't hide them this time because the kid was crying now, too. "Of course, little man. I'm absolutely, hundred percent here for you. I know, sometimes the girls can be tough to be around."

Calvin nodded. "This is going to be bad for Aunt Jamie."

Tig put his hand on the kid's head, giving his hair some rough treatment. "You know what though? Aunt Jamie's a grown up, so you don't worry for her too much, okay? She's tough. And the thing about being a kid is the adults that care about _you_ are worrying about _you_. That's our job, okay? You don't have to worry about _us_, buddy."

Calvin nodded and pushed his glasses up. Again Tig was pissed they were still broken.

"You need to talk you come see me, okay?" Tig said, reinforcing what he'd been telling Calvin all along.

"I will," Calvin promised, taking his hand again. Tig figured he was okay and stood, letting the kid lead the way to the door. He wasn't going to force him out.

When the door opened Tig realized Calvin wasn't the one he really had to worry about. The look on Jamie's face struck him deep; she was not going to be okay. At all.

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome!**


	41. Chapter 40

**October**

Cyclophosphamide. Kills T-cells. Also causes nausea, vomiting, bone marrow suppression, diarrhea, darkening of the nails and skin, hair loss and lethargy.

Doxorubicin is an anthracycline antibiotic, also known to cause heart damage.

Fluorouracil causes cancer cells to commit suicide. It can also fuck up your liver.

Jamie knew the names of the poisons making up the cocktail being drip-fed into her arm. Somehow none of it mattered, because somewhere in this hospital her little sister was in a coma, maybe even a vegetable. And Jamie couldn't make it better.

Jamie had wept to see the state Jaclyn was in; skin and bone, bruises all over. Tig told her Jackie was handcuffed to a radiator on a mattress in a nasty apartment. She owed drug dealers money, and she'd OD'd on heroin.

No one could confirm if Jaclyn had been raped. Apparently there was bruising, but no way to know for sure until she opened her eyes and said the words. Jamie was nearly sick at the thought of her little sister being hurt that way.

It all came back to the _little_ sister part. Jamie was supposed to take care of Jaclyn. And she hadn't.

Undergoing her sixth visit to the chemo room, Jamie was struck by how depressing the place was. They tried to make it nice. There were flowering potted plants everywhere, the drugs were administered while you sat in big, comfortable recliners. Contemporary soft rock was playing on the speakers. But it was all room spray over a big stink. Everyone here was dying.

Thelma and Calvin were up in Jaclyn's room "visiting." Thelma would talk to her for their "drop-in," Calvin would silently hold Jaclyn's limp hand. Everyone was on standby, waiting to _happen_, paused like they'd been dipped in concrete and were now stuck this way.

It made Jamie insane. At first, yes she'd been distraught but now she was pissed off.

This was Jaclyn. This was _so _Jaclyn it almost made Jamie laugh. But she couldn't, because she was sick all the time and exhausted and basically resigned to the fact that all this chemical torture was actually going to kill her.

And the two people who still cared about her were almost unreachable now. Calvin shut down because Jamie was sick and Aunt Thelma was beside herself with worry for Jaclyn. Jamie felt she had no right to make them look at her and demand that they feel sorry for _her._

And Jamie wanted Tig.

She closed her eyes, feeling tears well up. The neighbour was still Calvin's best friend, and as the women in his life fell apart Calvin basically lived at Tig's. The "no going inside the house" rule was completely dissolved by this point, and many times the two of them just spent an evening watching TV. Jamie trusted that they weren't watching anything past a PG-13 rating, but … what the hell did she know? The only time she saw her neighbour was when he'd carry a fully-asleep Calvin back to her house, tuck him in bed then leave with just a quiet and indifferent "Goodnight."

Tig didn't come over and say hi. He didn't tell her she was beautiful anymore. He never leered at her or gave her those blatant physical appraisals. He was a polite and cordial man living next door, and it hurt her.

Jamie could all but _see _the walls going up around herself. She'd done a great job cutting everyone out of her life. And a big part of her was waiting, or _hoping_, that Tig was going to just tell her she was being a self-pitying idiot and needed to smarten up. But he wasn't around. Not around _her _anyway. She missed him; with an _ache _she missed seeing him, garnering his attention.

Thankfully Jamie had _these_ dates every two to three days to look forward to. Just her and her IV drip. Good times. At least this was the end of a course and she'd have a couple of weeks to recover now.

When she was done and ready to curl up in a ball and mope for a good ten hours, Jamie wandered to ICU and found Thelma and Calvin. Thelma gave her shit for not waiting, but Jamie was willing to bet her aunt didn't even know how much time she'd spent there hoping for a sign that Jackie was home and the lights might be coming back on.

Thelma took them both back to Jamie's house, then decided Calvin needed a treat. Ice cream. So Jamie headed straight to bed, pulling on flannel pants and a T-shirt, curling up in a ball and waiting to get sick. It happened every time.

She could tell by the way her clothes fit she was losing weight alarmingly fast. Even her elastic-waist flannel pyjama bottoms slid down her hips. When she stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at herself and forcing herself to accept the missing breast, she noticed that her ribs were showing. Even her shoulders looked bony. It had started during radiation and hadn't stopped. She was shrinking.

That very morning when she'd been washing her hair it was the first time she noticed the clumps coming away from her scalp on her hands. She'd stared at the proof as the shower washed her hair away, tears filling her eyes.

That was it. The beginning of a very quick slope downward.

She couldn't even muster the energy to get worked up over it. Half the time she felt bad she was taking up manpower and materials at the chemo ward, wishing she could donate them to someone with no coverage who actually wanted to live. Not that Jaime was wishing for death: she just wasn't so attached to life most days.

She never told a soul about this. For a day after treatment Thelma and Calvin would just give her a wide berth out of respect for her side effects, then she'd make herself smile and carry on the best she could.

Jamie heard cars outside, and she wished for the first time in a while that she was back at Thelma's. Even midday was incredibly peaceful on the farm. But once Jaclyn was found and admitted to the hospital they'd packed up and came back to Charming. They'd lived around the construction workers who got the bathroom completed in admirable time, and Jamie wished she was more excited to have a bathtub again. Since then she'd started the chemical treatments and life kept flying by without her. In her more piteous moments she would sulk and think to herself that Thelma was more worried about the comatose drug addict than Jamie, but that was ridiculous. She was just being selfish.

Jamie squeezed her eyes shut and breathed evenly, hoping if she was very still she might just be able to sleep and maybe not get sick on this one. Like the radiation; she got used to that over time. Maybe chemo would be the same.

Shouting voices could be heard through the single-pane windows of the house. When they didn't stop, she got up with quite a bit of annoyance and stomped, sort of, down the hallway to the living room. Through the picture window she saw a car pulled up haphazardly to the curb in front of her house. She recognized the "uniform" of the four guys out front – white tank tops, saggy jeans and a lot of tattoos – as what the guy she'd hit with the baseball bat was wearing.

Her stomach clenched up when she realized the four men were clustered around an older man on the sidewalk, his arm still holding onto the car door that had obviously been wrenched open to pull him out of the vehicle. The four men were taking turns kicking him. In the ribs, in the chest, and when she saw a kick connect with his face she cried out, then covered her mouth.

Of course they didn't hear it, but she bit her lip anyway as she dove for the cordless phone. She was about to call 911 when her fingers froze.

_Honey, where you're living now, the cops only come to one out of three calls. We have a way of dealing with this kind of thing._

Tig's words came back to her. So instead of dialling 911 she grabbed the phone directory and flipped pages, thankful Calvin was so inquisitive about Tig's life. She found the number for Teller-Morrow, an automotive repair shop, and dialled. It rang four times and she was losing hope before she heard a familiar voice.

"Teller-Morrow."

Jamie frowned. "Is this … Gemma?"

"Who is this?"

Jamie shot a look outside. The man was on the ground, not moving to defend himself. "It's Jamie. There are drug dealers in front of my house beating a guy up."

There was a beat, then Gemma answered. "Shit. I'm sending a couple guys over right now."

"Is …" she sighed, hating how this sounded. "Is Tig there?"

"No, honey. He's not. Some of the guys are headed in today but they haven't got here yet. Don't worry, I'll send help. Just stay inside, okay?"

"Okay."

"Stay on the phone. Just a minute."

Jamie heard the thunk of Gemma setting the receiver down, and she waited. After a long moment Gemma came back. "Jamie?"

"Yeah?"

"How many are there?"

"Four, and the guy they're beating up."

"Shit. Okay. I'm sending my boys, and you don't have to be scared of them, okay?"

"Okay."

Gemma's voiced sounded far off so Jamie knew she was talking to someone else wherever she was. "There's four of them. Take the prospect just in case. And be careful." Then she was back full volume. "You want to stay on the phone with me until they get there?"

Jamie chewed her lip. "No, it's okay. I know you're not that far away, it shouldn't take too long."

"Stay in inside, sweetheart, and wait for the boys."

"I will. And … Gemma?"

"Yeah?"

She shook her head, chickening out. "Nevermind."

"When Tig gets here I'll send him over."

Her hand tightened on the phone and she could have cried. "Thank you Gemma."

"No problem. And Jamie?"

"Yeah?"

"You did the right thing, honey. Now sit tight. Help is coming."

Jamie disconnected the call, set the phone back on its cradle and curled up on the sofa to wait. She let her eyes close for a moment, only to be wrenched out of dozing by the loud approach of Harleys. She couldn't help it, she got to her feet and watched out the front window as four bikes roared up Tig's driveway and parked. The dealers abandoned the poor wretch on the sidewalk to meet the bikers head on.

Jamie wrapped her arms around her middle as one of the skin-head looking twerps stepped nose-to-nose with a large man in that same vest Tig always wore - that they were _all _wearing. He also donned a black knitted cap on his head with an impressive beard clinging to his chin. Jamie thought the dealer must be nuts – the biker was three times his size easily. And the two at his back were nothing to sneeze at. The fourth was considerably smaller but still looked wiry enough to hold his own.

A young blonde man pushed the bearded one back, stepping in front of the dealer and words were exchanged. Even from where Jamie stood it looked tense.

Without warning the blonde cracked the dealer's nose with a quick punch, so quick Jamie barely saw him move. The dealer went down hard_, _and the blonde wasted no time feeding toes into his mouth a couple times. Each man's friends grabbed a companion and there was an all-out brawl in her front yard.

"Jesus Christ," she muttered.

It didn't last long. The dealers seemed to lack the drive the bikers had, and before long they were running off down her block, all of them limping or holding some part of their bodies that had been injured. Among the bikers she saw one split lip and one bleeding nose, but none of them seemed very hurt.

One guy was getting on his bike to follow the dealers, two other bikers were checking on the poor guy lying on the sidewalk. To her surprise, the blonde made his way up her walkway. She froze, not sure what he could possibly want, and she certainly didn't want anyone to see her looking like she did. But they'd come because she called.

He knocked on her door, and she pulled it open tentatively.

Gosh, he looked _really _young. Young like Doctor Foster. His blue eyes were lovely, a scruff of beard on his chin an attempt to maybe look tougher because, really, he was quite pretty. He had the expression of a bored teenager when she opened the door, and when he saw her he seemed … _surprised. _"Hey," he said amiably, covering it well with a friendly smile.

"Hi," she returned, unsure and not willing to open the door more than six inches.

"I wouldn't expect them back," he said after another short pause. Then he gave a short laugh and shook his head. "Sorry, I didn't know what to expect coming here. I mean … you're Tig's girl."

She frowned. "I'm his neighbour."

He nodded and his smile grew. "Right. Well, if those assholes _do _come back I want you to call my cell direct, okay? Can you program it in your phone?"

She grabbed the cordless off the entertainment centre just inside the front door, and he made no move to enter her house. It made her slightly more comfortable. He gave her the numbers and she punched them in, asking, "And, I'm sorry, what's your name?"

"It's Jax," he replied, still smiling and looking her up and down. "Oh, and call an ambulance for the guy out front or he might really be in trouble."

That startled Jamie. "Oh, okay."

"All that guy did was stiff them twenty bucks," Jax told her, and it sounded like a warning. "So if you see them, you _really _need to call me."

"I will," she answered with a nod. "And … thank you for coming."

He nodded, replied with a charming "Thank you for calling," then bounded down the front steps.

Jamie shut the door, punched 911 in the cordless and watched out the front window as the four bikers roared off as loudly as they'd arrived. The poor man on the sidewalk lay bleeding and unmoving.

"911, what's your emergency?"

That jarred her. "Umm, a man is laying on the sidewalk in front of my house. He's unconscious. I think he needs an ambulance."

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome. They inspire me. :)**


	42. Chapter 41

"Come on, Tigger. Coupla shots then a dance in the ring."

Tig grinned across his handlebars at Happy Lowman. "You really can't wait for me to knock the living shit out of you?"

"It'll never happen," Happy promised.

"Don't get me wrong. I feel bad, knowing how small that dick is. I'd likely run my mouth to compensate, too." Happy flipped him off, making Tig cackle as he lit a cigarette. "Tell you what. You want a fight? Ask a crow eater. At least that's a fair fight."

"Don't be a pussy. What, the girlie next door want to have portraits taken together? Can't get a black eye or swollen lip?"

Tig swung a leg off his bike. "That actually _is _something I'd like to hit you for."

"What?"

"Running your mouth like a little bitch. When do you find the time? Between knitting and fucking Coronation Street?"

"The fuck's Coronation Street?"

Tig shook his head, dead serious. "You're an embarrassment to all little old ladies."

"Shut it and get in the ring."

Holding his cigarette in the corner of his mouth, Tig shrugged out of his kutte and Happy climbed off his bike, too. Now that Tig was thinking about it, he _did _owe Hap for this. And it didn't matter if Jamie hated him now, it still pissed him off that the guy brought the club's attention down on her in the first place.

"That's what it takes?" Happy quipped, his kutte draping the handlebars of his Harley. "I gotta bring that sweet little snatch into it?"

Tig bit down his reply, ducking under the ropes of the ring and bouncing on the boards under the canvas in his riding boots. He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth long enough to reply with, "Not a lot I wouldn't do for snatch, Hap."

"Yeah, we know." Happy rolled his shoulders, fists in front of him as he approached Tig. "Question is, if she's so fucking important, why the hell are you two-fisting the roadside whores?"

Tig's jaw cranked down hard and he tossed the cigarette free of the boxing ring, tapping his knuckles to Happy's. Something must have changed in his face because Happy grinned back. "Something got through that thick skull, huh?"

Tig hit him once. It brought blood to Happy's lip and the fucker grinned. "I think I hit a nerve." Tig hit him again and that's when Happy let him have it back.

A few blows were exchanged, then he was aware of Gemma shouting from the side of the ring. Tig stopped, shoving Hap off of him, turning to her as the bastard caught him with a surprise hook to the jaw when he wasn't paying attention. It brought him down to one knee, just as Gemma went full gale-force on them. "For fuck's sake you two! Am I talking?"

Tig shook his head before standing up and heading for Happy but Gemma stopped him mid-stride. "Jamie called here today. There were dealers in front of her house beating someone up."

Tig turned on his heel, hands dropping to the top rope. "Is she okay?"

"I sent Jax, Opie, Bobby and the prospect over. They just got back. The guy that got beat up is going to the hospital. She's fine," Gemma assured him gently. "But she asked for you."

Fuck him, he had to fight to keep from grinning. "She did?"

"She sounded tired."

Tig nodded. "She's a few rounds into chemo. Calvin said she's been getting weak."

"Go check on her," Gemma advised pointedly. "It'll be better for you than pounding the shit out of the out of town guests."

Tig checked to see what smart ass comment Happy had to add, but he was nodding. "Go on, man. But wipe the blood off your face. It's an embarrassment."

Tig left the ring, not convinced Happy wouldn't rush him and knock him on his ass. But Killer stayed where he was, arms slung over the top rope. "And check my kutte. I got a coupla joints in there."

"Nah, I'm good," he returned, heading for the clubhouse.

"Not for you, dipshit. The neighbour."

Tig stopped. "What?"

"Nausea. Bowie's mom was going through chemo few years back. The only way she could eat anything and keep it down."

Gemma nodded. "It's true. Plus it makes people hungry, gives them an appetite. I doubt she's asked the doctor for it."

Tig nodded absently. "I'm gonna clean up first."

In his dorm he ran water in the sink, splashing the blood, sweat and road dust off his face then scrubbing his hands. That's when he noticed they were shaking.

Shit, not this again.

Every night since seeing Calvin and Jamie's reaction to Jaclyn being in the hospital he'd been ripped from sleep with horrible, panic-riddled nightmares, all of them about Jamie dying. Not from cancer but other horrible, bloody ways that were his fault. A different scenario every time. And for hours after he'd shake like he had palsy.

Since their one and only intimate moment he'd been successful in avoiding spending time alone with Jamie. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable, and he was still convincing himself it was for the best. But he missed her. Christ, he missed her so much.

Calvin was clinging to him at an almost unhealthy level but Tig didn't care. He could sense that the kid just needed a place that felt stable, and if being Tig's friend made him feel safe well, that was fine. He hoped it gave Jamie less worry, too.

He may be gone but he wasn't over her. Not by a long shot.

Her vehicle was the only one in her driveway when he got to his place, so Aunt Thelma was with Calvin to give her time to sleep. He parked his bike in his drive, wincing at how much quieter the street was once he killed the motor.

Next door a car was being towed from the front sidewalk. A few locals were hanging around, gawking and chatting at whatever drama had gone down. He headed inside to at least change his shirt. He likely stunk like rotting carcass and was pretty sure that wouldn't help with nausea.

Leaving the kutte in his room, he paused in the kitchen to half-finish a bottle of beer before buttoning a clean shirt all the way up and heading back to the driveway. He knocked on her screen door with one knuckle, hoping she wasn't asleep.

After a pause the inside door was pulled open, and she blinked up at him, looking a little glassy-eyed. "Tig?"

He swallowed his initial reaction, which was to throw the screen open and ask her how the hell she'd lost so much weight in such a short span of time, toss her back in bed and force-feed her until she looked fucking healthy again.

"Jamie, you okay?"

She nodded, rubbing one eye with a fist. "I just got up."

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No, no. Sorry, come in."

She moved away from the entrance so he pushed the screen door open and stepped inside. It was stuffy in here, but that just came with a closed house on a warm day.

"You want me to open some windows?" he offered.

"Does it stink in here?" she asked, half-turning on her way to the kitchen. She was in flannel shorts and her legs seemed so scrawny they instantly reminded him of her sister's.

"No, it smells fine. Just stuffy. You want some fresh air?"

She blinked, covered a yawn then nodded.

This was exactly what he didn't want to see. Her being so sick she wouldn't say a single word to him or challenge him in any way. This was what had him freaking out and sending her away even though he'd wanted her so badly.

He moved to the smaller window over the sofa, sliding the pane open. Then he passed her on his way to the kitchen and opened both windows in there. When he turned from the second one she was opening the fridge and pulling out a jug of juice.

"You feeling all right?" he asked after a pause. Fuck, this was so awkward.

She shrugged one shoulder while filling a glass. "Chemo this morning. Then a fight broke out in my front yard. Then I called a bunch of bikers to break it up. Then one of them told me I was _your girl_. Then I was sick for two hours straight and slept for one hour. I feel exactly how you'd expect."

"Who said you were my girl?" he asked, like that was the most important fact she'd just shared.

She shrugged. "I can't remember. The pretty blonde one."

Tig frowned. "Who?"

She screwed up her face while returning the juice to the fridge. "Oh, Jax. Does that sound right?"

His hackles rose a bit. "You think Jax is pretty, huh?"

That indifferent shrug again, and it was starting to piss him off. "Why not? I apparently have a thing for blue eyes."

Her behaviour was all kinds of fucked up to him. "Jamie, what's going on?"

She set the glass down after one gulp. "Why didn't I call the police, Tig? Why did I call the garage where you work?"

"I told you, we take care of this kind of shit."

She was biting her lip. "When he said I was your girl …" While she paused he took a deep breath. He didn't think he wanted to hear the rest of this. "I found myself wishing it was true. I mean, when I called there I asked for _you_, Tig."

Lightness and air, filling up his chest, making it fucking _hurt_. But in a good way. "Gemma told me that," he replied, not sure what was expected of him.

"I wanted you here to make sure we were okay. You were the first person I thought of."

Tig swallowed hard. "I'm sorry Jamie -"

"You made me feel like a fool," she said, closing her eyes. "I'm an adult. I don't need people deciding what's good for me and what's not."

"I know."

"I just think it might have been good. And I'll likely never know for sure."

Tig was stuck. He had no idea what to do, what to say. "Hey," he cut in, trying for humour. "I thought you said you weren't good at saying what you were thinking."

She shook her head. "When you feel like shit, you just tend to say things bluntly. You stop caring what people think."

He hadn't been at the point where he cared what people thought for years. Until it came to her, of course. Then the whole _I'll likely never know for sure _comment struck him on a major delay.

"What do you mean 'you'll never know if we could be good together'? What does that mean?"

Jamie waved a hand to dismiss him. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. Just … keep taking good care of Calvin."

Tig caught her upper arm as gently as he could and made her face him. "Jamie? Babe? You're scaring me here."

She shook her head. "You picked a fight with three drug dealers at once. You punched Clark Davidson in his own home. You're not scared of anything."

"_You're _scaring me," he corrected her.

"No. _Gemma _scares you."

Tig was reeling from confusion now. Safest to just play along. "Gemma would scare Genghis Kahn."

She blinked. "You just pulled out a Genghis Kahn reference?"

Tig grinned. "I paid attention in school occasionally, babe."

Jamie blinked a couple times, they swayed. "I don't feel well."

"You gonna be sick?"

She shook her head, touching her forehead. "I'm so lightheaded. And _cold_."

That was all she said before crumpling into him.

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome!**


	43. Chapter 42

"Jamie? Jamie, can you open your eyes for me?"

The voice was soft, light, and professional-sounding. Jamie worked to swallow, her mouth so incredibly dry it hurt. She had to fight to get her eyelids apart, and when she did everything was fuzzy.

"There you go. Here, I've got some water."

A cool hand was under the back of her neck, propping her head up and a plastic cup was pressed to her lips. When she felt the water she opened her mouth, gulping eagerly, almost sighing from relief.

When she was done her head was lowered again, and now her eyes had time to focus. A woman was kneeling next to her on the floor. Jamie herself appeared to be stretched out on her sofa. She fought to put together what just happened and how she got here, but she couldn't.

The stranger tucked a lock of her brunette hair behind one ear and offered a friendly smile. "You fainted. Your temperature is high, but not high enough to rush you to the hospital. Has this happened before?"

Jamie shook her head, taking in the fact this attractive, friendly person had a white coat on over scrubs. _A doctor at her house_?

The woman craned her neck back to look over her shoulder at someone standing behind her. "She's going to be fine. But if her temperature gets to 101 or higher take her to the hospital." Then her warm, brown eyes came back to Jamie. "Try to eat something. You need that more than you think right now."

Jamie nodded, then looked up to the other person in the room and fought down a wave of panic. _Tig_ was there.

Right, she'd been spilling her guts out before taking an involuntary nap. Shit.

The doctor stood after giving Jamie's hand some pressure. She watched while the woman then gave Tig's elbow a squeeze as well and she left through the front door. Tig's eyes on were on Jamie the whole time.

"Who was that?" she asked softly.

"You need to eat."

"Who was that?" she repeated.

"Jax's girlfriend."

Jamie was surprised. "His girlfriend is a _doctor_?"

Tig perched on the edge of the sofa, pressing against her side and leaning over her, one hand on the back of the sofa and the other on his knee. "You need to eat. I can tell you aren't taking care of yourself Jamie, you're wasting away."

She shook her head. "I can't. Throwing up is worse than this."

"Babe, look at me." When she didn't his hand left his knee to grasp her chin and force her face towards him. "Jamie. Cut the shit. You giving up?"

Her breath caught and her eyes stung. "No," she whimpered.

"Yeah, you fucking are. And that's so weak. I'm disappointed, Jamie."

She squeezed her eyes shut, heart breaking. She knew she'd wanted him to tell her to straighten her shit out, but now that it was here it hurt more than she thought.

"You can't do this. I mean fuck, Jamie. What happens to Calvin?"

She sobbed, and he let go of her chin.

"I know you want to make it through this. I know you're capable of being every bit the woman you were before all this went down. I want you to get better. For _you_."

She just shook her head, and didn't even fight as he sat on the sofa, gathered her up and pulled her into his lap. Actually she curled up in a ball and leaned into his chest. He tucked her head into the crook of his neck, leaning back into the couch and holding her tight.

"I'm sorry," she choked out through her tears, but she couldn't stop.

"Don't be sorry. I don't know what you're going through. I'm a selfish asshole and I don't like you being different from how you were."

Jamie closed her eyes. "I am, aren't I?"

"Yeah," he told her, his hand rubbing along the outside of her thigh. "I miss smart-ass Aunt Jamie."

She felt herself smile, just a bit. "I thought you liked _mellow_ Aunt Jamie."

"Yeah, I like her, too. And laughing Aunt Jamie is pretty good. Giving-me-shit Aunt Jamie is pretty hot, actually."

She was chuckling. "That can't be true."

"You don't see the pattern here?"

"What pattern?"

"I like _Aunt Jamie_, babe. I've told you that before." He pushed her hair off her forehead before pressing a soft kiss to it. "And you like this isn't Aunt Jamie at all. It's this _thing_ you've got getting the better of you."

"You're right," she whispered, playing with a button on his shirt. "I just get so tired."

"I know. But if you start taking better care of yourself, the rest should follow, right?"

She nodded, then stiffened. "Where _is _Calvin?"

"What?"

"What time is it? Where are Calvin and Aunt Thelma?"

"Relax, babe. Thelma took Calvin to the farm for the weekend. Give you a rest."

She frowned. "Really?"

"I told Thelma I'd take care of you."

She sat up straight. "What? No, you're busy, you can't -"

"I can and I am. So deal with it," he suggested with a grin.

"They were _here_? How long was I out for?"

"A while. I think you really needed the rest more than anything. When you weren't waking up it got Tara worried."

"Tara?"

"The doctor that was here. Aunt Thelma and Calvin left just before you woke up."

She didn't know what to say. She had no way to thank him for what he was offering.

"Okay," he grunted, standing up while keeping her in his arms. "Let's get some air on the deck. And I think we should try something to help you eat."

Jamie was docile as Tig carried her through the kitchen and out the back door. He set her in a chair, then straightened and reached into his pocket. "I got this from a friend, and I really recommend you try it."

He set a baggie on the patio table, and she frowned. "Are those joints?"

"Yep."

"No, Tig I can't -"

"How much do you weigh right now?"

She stopped. "I … I don't know."

"When I picked you up just now I noticed the difference, Jamie. You're so fucking light now. I can see how knobby those knees are and it freaks me out. If this helps you get healthy, it's worth it."

"But Tig -"

He crouched in front of her. "You will _never _be like your sister."

She blinked. "What?"

"Is that what you're worried about?"

She had no answer.

"You're too strong, not nearly selfish enough. You don't have it in you to be an addict, honey." He reached for the bag and opened it. "I don't want to get you blitzed, just hungry."

"I've never smoked pot," she admitted, embarrassed for some strange reason.

"That's okay. I'll be here to make sure you're okay. But I only cook eggs, and I'm not sure pot-eggs are even worth the effort. So for now, we'll have to smoke it."

She licked her lips. "What's it feel like?"

He cocked his head to the side, pulling a hand-rolled joint out of the bag. "It'll make you feel light-headed. Maybe a little giggly, which might be fun." His eyes twinkled at that. "My face always feels a bit numb when I do it. And you'll get hungry, no nausea." He held the joint out.

She clasped her hands in her lap. "Show me what to do."

He dropped to his knees, sitting on his heels while digging a lighter out of his jeans pocket. "Okay. You breathe deep, and you have to really inhale. So you have to breathe it right down into your lungs, not just hold it at the back of your throat. You get me?" She shook her head 'no' and he grinned again. "You really are that sweet, huh?"

Jamie bristled. "I'm not a child for Pete's sake."

He was chuckling. "I know, believe me. I _know_."

That made her blush, but then she was watching him light the end of the joint which was pinched between his lips. He inhaled as the paper caught, and the end blazed. He pulled it away from his mouth and said, not breathing, "You hold it, then …" he exhaled, and the smell hit her.

She wrinkled her nose. "It stinks."

"Yeah, it does. Here. Breathe it when I exhale it." He drew on the joint again, the end flaring red, held it, and moved close to her.

Jamie leaned into him, and when he blew out the smoke she inhaled it like he had from the joint, catching it and feeling it flow back into her throat. She breathed deep, like she used to do back in band when she played the trumpet, the air filling her diaphragm. It burned, and she tried to hold it but she sputtered, coughing hoarsely, tears coming to her eyes.

He was smiling, hand on her shoulder. "You okay?"

"That's awful," she said, feeling a weird, hot wetness in her chest. "I'm not sure I did it right."

"That was perfect," he assured her.

"It hurts."

"It can," he admitted, taking another hit, leaning into her and his lips just skimming hers as he exhaled. She remembered to inhale just in the nick of time, and while she held it, not choking this time, he kissed her very softly.

Jamie pulled away and exhaled smoothly. Tig's eyes were locked on hers, and warmth was spreading through her chest. It wasn't the pot. It was _him_.

"What should I feel now?" she croaked, throat still rough from her hacking cough.

"Just wait. It'll come." He stood up. "I'll go take care of supper, okay?"

"You making me eggs?"

He laughed. "No, but I also order a mean pizza. Trust me, you'll be thanking me."

Tig disappeared inside, and Jamie rested her head on the back of the chair. She didn't feel anything, but it was likely having an effect. How the hell would she know?

"Jamie?"

She started, realizing she'd fallen asleep. Tig was handing her a glass of water. "Here, for your throat. Did you fall asleep?"

She nodded, taking the water. "I guess I'm … relaxed."

He studied her face, then he broke into a grin. "Yeah, you're high."

"What?"

"Your eyes are glazed."

"But I don't feel anything!"

He leaned over her, running a finger along her jawline. Normally it would feel _nice. _But right then it tingled, and it may as well have been a nipple for all the reaction she had to it. Her eyes closed and she had to breathe through her mouth. "Yeah," he whispered. "You're high."

Her cheeks warmed, and she pulled away from his hand. She blinked, her view of the yard seeming to focus slower than she was used to. The she scrunched up her face and realized she couldn't feel her nose.

"Holy shit," she mumbled, touching the bridge of her nose and looking up at him. "I can't feel my nose."

He laughed, dropping into the chair across the table from her. "_High _Aunt Jamie might be fun, too."

She took another gulp of water, and when her stomach grumbled it startled her. She put a hand to her gut, surprised. It had been _loud_, even Tig heard it and gave her a _told you so_ look. Rather than be embarrassed it made her giggle. And then her giggle made her laugh, and laughing felt pretty damn good so she didn't stop, until she got herself under control. Then she had one question. "Where's the pizza?"

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome - and have a great weekend folks.**


	44. Chapter 43

When Jamie couldn't keep her eyes open any more Tig picked her up off the sofa, carried her down the hallway to the bedroom and tucked her in for the night. She barely woke, just long enough to murmur "'Night" before nestling into her pillows.

He pushed her hair behind her ear and kissed her forehead without a thought. He left the bedroom door open and returned to the living room to flick the TV off.

Tig was in trouble here. So much fucking trouble it felt like he might suffocate. He sat on the sofa, dead centre, running his hands up and down his thighs, trying to calm his shit down.

This couldn't be happening, not to him. He never felt this strongly, this deep. But the panic of Jamie fainting after basically telling him she was into him … well, it stirred shit up. He knew he didn't want to just fuck her, he wanted her around for a good long time. His brain didn't clue him into what _that_ was called until that moment.

No, uh uh. Fuck that. He was _not _in love. He wasn't programmed for this shit. He could care about people, have a platonic love like he had for Gemma and his brothers. That was one thing. _This _… felt stronger, yet more fragile all at the same time.

That woman in the other room was fucking kryptonite.

He let his head fall back, eyes sliding closed. When he'd watched her almost _inhale _half of an extra-large pepperoni and mushroom pizza the word first came to him. _I could love this one_, he found himself thinking. Then when they'd settled into the sofa to numb their brains further on primetime television she curled up under his arm, resting against his chest and it felt … _perfect_. Beyond amazing. Comfortable. Something he wanted in his life every damn day. In a word: _sweet._

So sweet it took everything he had not to crawl into bed with her and sleep next to her. Not so he could nail her when she woke up, either. Just to be _near_ her. How the hell had she done that to him?

Tig _had_ felt this once before, a complete lifetime ago. Before the club, before his service. Young love that was torn right out of his arms leaving him a weeping, screaming, cursing and self-destructive mess. She'd been the reason people weren't allowed to get close without coming through hell with him first. It hadn't been difficult to shut himself off from that part of his life. Fill the voids with violence, danger, anonymous sex and alcohol. All things that human nature thrived on and desired. He stopped thinking his reactions through, he just _acted_.

Now he was thinking. And remembering everything he'd already done that tied him to Jamie and Calvin. And he realized then even his base human instincts had been driving him towards her. He wanted to care for her, support her, protect her. His operating system had turned on him in the end.

Fuck. He was falling for Jamie.

The sound of Harley pipes grew louder outside, and he heard the bike pull into his driveway. He stood from the sofa and left through the front door, turning on the outside light.

Happy was halfway up Tig's walkway when Tig called out to him. "Hap!"

Killer turned, switched directions and headed towards him. They met at the fence. Happy was all business. "Okay. They grabbed the girl in Oakland. She was trying to get away with a grand in ice, stolen from guess who?"

Tig was _really _starting to hate this name. "Tiny?"

Happy nodded. "Word went out that she not only stole a grand in product from the guy, she owes him almost forty grand. Loans, ice, crank. She's a mess and she sucks as a thief. Well, she sucks at _getting away with it_ anyway."

"How'd she end up here?"

Happy licked his lips and his face found a new level of stone-cold. "That dealer paid Tiny ten grand for her. He liked her."

Tig felt his blood temperature rise. "Was she hooking?"

Happy shook his head, expression unchanged. "Nah. Tiny shot her up with heroin and handed her over, easy as you please."

Tig's whole face twitched. "Mother_fucker_."

"You can bet she was heavily sedated and used like a teenage boy's tube sock for at least a week before we found her. The dealer likely rented her out, too."

"Who told you this?"

"Quinn and Lorca found a dealer in Bakersfield selling next to Quinn's niece's school. They didn't like that too much. Did a little questioning on who Tiny was, and this guy said he'd only seen Tiny _once_, back when this prick handed over ten large for an ice head bitch."

Tig felt the prickle of hope at that. "He actually _saw_ Tiny?"

Happy nodded, cold smile just starting to creep up. "Oh yeah. Gave a great description, too."

Tig felt some relief at _that. _But damn ..."Shit. This'll kill Jamie."

Killer's face softened a bit. "How's she doing?"

Tig waited for the jibe, but it didn't come. "She's lost a lot of weight. It's fucking terrifying, actually."

Happy was studying him, and Tig couldn't remember seeing this expression on Killer's face _ever_. It looked a lot like concern. "You know, you may not want her to know what you do during your days and nights, but you're doing right by _her_, man. And that counts for a lot."

Tig felt itchy just from that.

"And you should bring her out to meet the guys," he added, turning back for his bike. "If you ever need one of us to look out for her, it'd help if she'd met us before trusting us to take care of her or that kid."

Tig nodded. "Yeah, I know," he replied, running his hand over his head and down the back of his neck.

Without a word Killer backed down the driveway and took off the way he'd come, his sage advice ringing in Tig's dome.

He _did _need to make a claim on Jamie, it was only fair. She'd told him as much right before she fainted. _When he said I was your girl … I found myself wishing it was true. _

Tig took a deep breath and made himself choose right then and there. Jamie as _his_, or Jamie _not at all_.

He chose to make her his. The other option seemed ludicrous.

…

"Tig?"

He heard the voice from far away, thinking he was dreaming again. He rolled away from where it was coming from, content to stay sleeping for the moment.

"Tig?" Now his name was combined with a soft, female laugh. "Come on. Don't make me eat all these pancakes by myself."

Frowning, he cracked one eye open, aware he was on a sofa. The fabric he didn't recognize right away, so he wasn't at his place or the clubhouse. He yawned and swivelled his head to look over his shoulder. Then he couldn't help it, he smiled. "Hey babe."

Jamie's smile was sweet, and she looked away when he called her 'babe.' "Are you hungry?" she asked, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"I'm still stuffed with pizza," he joked. "Aren't you?"

She shook her head. "No." Then she grinned and he noticed her eyes.

"Are you high again?"

"I slept so good last night, and I think it's because I finally ate a whole meal. I like … being full," she shared like it was a great epiphany she'd had. He had to laugh.

"You're high," he accused, sitting up. "I created a monster."

"Come on," she said, getting to her feet and pulling on his hands. "I made pancakes."

Tig had to blink a few times, then rub his eyes. When that didn't help he stood and followed. The change from the day before to now was shocking. "You made pancakes?"

Stupid question; he could smell them, and as soon as he did his stomach growled a bit. He stood next to the table, watching her pull a plate of pancakes from the stove where they'd been keeping warm. The table was set already, and she put hot plates at the two place settings as well.

"You did all this and I slept through it?"

She grinned. "I think the noise was competing with your snoring."

"Shit, was I snoring? Sorry."

"Don't be. It's not like you woke me up or anything." She crossed to the coffee maker and was pulling two mugs out of the cupboard. Without thinking, he crossed the room to stand behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. She set the mugs on the counter and stilled, head half-turning enough to bring her ear closer to him, not enough for her to see him.

He squeezed her shoulders, and she inhaled. He rested his head against the back of hers, closing his eyes and letting the smell and warmth of her seep into him.

"Tig?"

"Jamie," he started, not sure what the hell he wanted to say here. "Jax was right. You _are _my girl, honey." Her shoulders stiffened under his hands, and he rubbed them, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck and leaving his face there, her skin almost feeling as good as home. "I'm going to do better, I swear. I'll do anything I can to deserve this."

She was frozen in place, and he could almost hear her mind whirling. He didn't know what to make of the silence. So he just waited, wrapping her up tight to his chest, linking his arms around her stomach. After a long, gut-rolling moment she put her hands over his and relaxed back into him. Something in his chest released, and he felt himself smile as he kissed her neck again.

"I must be crazy," she whispered.

He turned her around, backing her up to the counter and holding her face between his hands. "Yeah. But I really like crazy, honey."

She looked worried for a moment. "What if I don't get better?"

"And what if you do?" he replied. "I'm taking the chance of losing you either way. Because I can tell you … I don't want to _let _you go. But I'll risk you leaving me."

Her hands gripped his wrists tightly. "Why do you want me? I don't see how -"

"Are you kidding me? We're going back to this?" he teased, and to his relief she smiled.

Her eyes rose to meet his, the colour of the ocean, and it struck him how no matter what about her changed, those eyes stayed absolutely stunning. And right now they were warm, heated, and not because she was pissed off. He pressed his lips to her cheek, then turned her head so her lips lined up with his. He didn't have to do anything else. She kissed him, winding her arms around his shoulders and pressing her sweet little self into his embrace. His hands slid down to span her back, and it struck him again how thin she'd gotten. He could feel her ribs and spine.

His concern for her well-being dissolved a bit when her tongue lapped at his bottom lip, and on pure instinct he opened his mouth, pushing her tongue back with his, which caused her to rise up to her toes. Her hips pressed into his, and even without that he knew he was hard already. Having her rub against him was a fantastic although painful confirmation.

She ended the kiss, easing away from him, the heavy lip lock ebbing away into soft touches. "We, uh," she breathed, lowering her heels again. "We should eat breakfast."

He certainly would have preferred _her _on the table, but he nodded. "Okay. Let's have pancakes, babe."

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome!**


	45. Chapter 44

The water reached the perfect temperature. Jamie stepped into the shower, the stream hitting her in the chest, and she closed her eyes, moving up to let it run over her face. She was stuffed with pancakes, and she hadn't been this full in … it felt like _years_. The warm hazy effect of the pot was like a cozy brain-inhibitor. She was just … happy.

_I'm going to do better, I swear. I'll do anything I can to deserve this._

Jamie covered her mouth as Tig's words came back to her, her heart clenching tight. She had no idea why in the world he would think he didn't deserve her, but that oath had given her the first moment of true peace she'd had in a very long time.

She was his girl. Something about that felt so … _right_.

They'd eaten pancakes until they were too full to handle another bite then washed the dishes together quietly and comfortably like it happened every day. She said she was going for a shower, he said he'd go out and mow the lawn for her.

She reached for the shampoo but found herself glaring at the bottle. She knew what would happen once she started lathering up her hair. It would come out in clumps, sticking to her hands and running down the tub to get stuck in the drain. She put the bottle back, washed the rest of her body quickly, then turned the water off, towelled dry and did her standard stare-at-herself-in-the-mirror routine.

She ignored the scars on her chest, instead focusing on what was left of her hair. There were no visible bald spots yet, but … it was going to happen.

Who knew how long she stood there, memorizing this last glimpse. She hadn't done this when they chopped her hair at the salon. She never got to say goodbye to a lot of parts of her.

She choked on that, hands covering her face as tears sprung to her eyes. _Don't, _she commanded herself. _Don't do this again. Don't go back into that self-pitying spiral_.

Jamie wrapped a towel around her chest, left the bathroom and went to the kitchen to get her scissors. As she was heading down the hallway the front door open and she turned, startled. It was Tig, and he looked a bit surprised to see her, too.

"I was, uh, getting a drink of water," he stuttered, eyes trailing up and then down her body. It was like she wasn't even wearing a towel. "What – what are you doing?"

"I'm cutting off all my hair," she answered hollowly, holding the towel closed and hopefully camouflaging the missing breast.

"Really?" He didn't sound as surprised by that as she was.

"It started falling out."

He inhaled, eyebrows raised. "I'm sorry, Jamie."

"No need to be sorry. It was going to happen."

"You're sure you're okay?" He didn't sound convinced and she couldn't blame him.

"Yeah." She started to the bathroom, then turned back. "Actually, could you help me?"

"Me?" He pointed at his own chest.

"I can't reach the back. I can't see it."

"Are you cutting it short?"

She shook her head. "No, I want it all gone."

He rubbed his chin. "Okay. Let me run next door for a second."

She nodded, then headed for the bathroom again. She spread an older towel on the floor, a second one over the sink and vanity. Without hesitation she grabbed a hunk at the front of her head and cut it, about a half inch from her scalp. She grabbed another chunk and did the same. She was halfway back over her head by the time Tig found her, and he set a straight razor and can of shaving foam on the vanity. Jamie wanted to cry. He wasn't talking her out of it, he was helping. And she appreciated it.

Jamie paid close attention to his face, but he gave nothing away. He just said, "You got clippers?"

"Main bathroom, under the sink."

He vanished again and she kept butchering away as much as she could. Tig appeared with the clippers, set them down, and took the scissors from her. With a light touch he cut away everything she couldn't see, then plugged in the clippers. "Sit on the tub," he suggested.

They moved the towel from the floor closer to the bath, and she stepped into the tub and sat on the edge facing the tiled wall. The clippers buzzed and she closed her eyes as his hand rested on top of her head. After a pause the clippers scraped over her scalp. She could feel the hair as it fell, tickling her shoulders, and she made herself breathe.

"How you doing?" Tig suddenly asked, and she opened her eyes.

"I'm fine," she assured him.

He squeezed her shoulder and she closed her eyes again. When he turned the clippers off she ran her hands over her head, feeling the fuzz.

"Oh my God," she whispered, breath hitching. But not from panic, oddly enough.

"You sure you want it all gone?"

"Yes," she replied immediately. "This way it's my choice."

Tig's big, warm hand closed around the back of her neck and pulled her back a bit. She titled her head backward and he kissed her softly, his eyes so warm she had to catch her breath. He smiled. "You're so beautiful, Jamie."

"Really?" she whispered, searching his face for the punch line.

"Honey, you have no idea, do you?"

"About what?"

He kissed her again, then tilted her head upright.

She sat still while he lathered up her head, then concentrated extra hard on staying still as he set a towel on her shoulder and said, "Here goes."

His hands were quick and light, and if she hadn't known what he was doing she'd likely find it incredibly relaxing. Not a single nick or cut, and a mere ten minutes later he was done, wiping her off with a warm, damp towel.

"Ready to see?" he asked.

She stood up and he held her hand, helping her step out of the bath. Her eyes were on the ground until she stood in front of the mirror. With a deep breath Jamie braced her hands and stared down into the sink, steeling her nerves.

Tig's thumb came under her chin and he titled her head up, and when Jamie saw herself she stopped breathing, staring at herself.

She was silent, stunned. Tig seemed worried. "Honey, say something."

Jamie didn't know what to say. She didn't know how round her head was. She had no idea her eyes were _that _big. Suddenly she could really see her cheekbones. On their own her hands were up and running over her head, hooking on the back of her neck.

"That's what I really look like," she said, absently.

"Yeah," he agreed. "That's how beautiful you are, Jamie."

Her eyes skipped over to his reflection, and his face was soft, open, honest.

Jamie's hands clutched where the towel was tucked closed. She felt the tears, noticed her lip quiver. "I am?"

"How many times I gotta say it, babe?" The humour was back in his voice, and it made her smile. "I'm starting to think you just like hearing it."

She shook her head, hand to her cheek. He closed a hand around her neck and pulled her to him to kiss her head. "You want me to clean this up?"

"No, I can. Thanks."

He kissed her cheek next, gave her a squeeze around the waist, then left her there with her reflection and the last of her armour on the floor. She was pulling the vacuum out of the closet when the phone rang. Jamie snagged the extension in the bedroom. "Hello?"

"Jamie Taylor?"

"Yes?"

"This is Doctor Cleary. I'm calling with good news."

Her grip tightened on the receiver. "You are?"

"Jaclyn's woken up. She's alert, responsive, and it appears her brain function has not been affected."

Jamie couldn't say anything.

"Jamie?"

"Sorry, I'm just … I'm relieved."

"We're moving her to a regular observation room for a few days, but I think she'll be ready to go home very soon."

"Really?"

"She's malnourished, detoxing as we speak. But I think the worst of it passed while she was in her coma. She's … she's quite desperate to see you."

Jamie's guilt returned, her big-sister-throwing-little-sister-out guilt. "Ummm … can I come today?"

"Absolutely. Visiting hours are until five."

She took a deep breath. "Thank you so much."

"My pleasure, Jamie. She'll be so excited to see you."

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome!**


	46. Chapter 45

Tig tilted his head. "Listen, Jamie. I told you. You're my girl."

She scratched her scalp under the scarf she'd tied around her head. It was blue, like her eyes, and he still couldn't believe she was this gorgeous without her hair.

"Tig, I'm … scared."

"You think I'm going to let you get hurt?"

She shook her head. "Tig -"

He slid his hand around her waist, pulling her against him. "Come on. Take a ride with me."

"I've never been on a motorcycle."

He couldn't help himself. "Let me be your first, babe," he said low, kissing the side of her neck, loving the sound of her giggling, embarrassed.

"You have to go slow."

"Slow and gentle, I promise."

She rolled her eyes. "Cut it out."

He gave her a look of shock. "I'm talking about the bike, what are _you _thinking about?"

She closed her eyes then covered her face. "Fine," she relented. "Just don't get me hurt."

He plopped a helmet on her head and fastened the chin strap. He knew he was grinning but he didn't care. "Hold onto me, and don't fight me. If you think you're capable of that."

She gave him a saucy look and he had to check himself from going complete sap on her. _Fun _Jamie likely was his favourite.

Tig pulled his helmet on, then swung a leg over his Dyna. "Behind me, babe."

When he sat she climbed on, holding onto his shoulders then settling into his back, wrapping her arms tight around him and linking her hands on his stomach.

"You ready?"

"Sure," she replied, somewhat tense, and he was grinning as he kicked the bike alive. He walked them down the drive, then once they were on the street he gave her right knee a squeeze and took off, making sure the tires squealed. When they did, so did Jamie.

As fun as this was, he was nervous about her seeing her sister. Jaclyn had some bad stories, and he was going to let _her _tell Jamie what happened. And if she lied, God help her, he was going to _make _her tell the truth.

St. Thomas Hospital was a five minute ride from their neighbourhood, and Tig was wishing it was longer. There was something about riding with his woman holding onto him, trusting him. It was fucking fantastic. He never just let any broad ride on his bike but Jamie felt right.

He parked and let her dismount first, watching as she unfastened the chin strap. He couldn't miss the colour in her face and the brightness of her eyes. "So, how was that?"

Her grin was breathtaking. "That was fun."

"See? I told you."

"I want to learn to ride."

Tig's eyebrows went up. "No."

"What? Why not?"

He pulled his helmet off. "Same reason I'm not telling you how I make scrambled eggs. If you're on a bike, it's _mine_."

She handed over the helmet when he reached for it. "What? Why?"

"I told you. You're _mine_, Jamie."

She sighed. "That seems unfair."

"Honey, anytime you want to ride on this bike you just ask. That's the deal."

All that got him was another sassy look. He stowed the helmets away and found himself taking her hand with a grin as they crossed the parking lot. She let him, grasping his palm to hers as they found the visitor's desk and then rode the elevator to the third floor. The doctor he'd pestered for a full day when the sister was first admitted stood at the nurse's station, and when she turned and saw them she wasn't smooth enough to hide her surprise, looking right at their joined hands.

"Jamie," the doctor greeted her warmly. "You're looking fantastic, I have to say."

Jamie grinned as her cheeks turned pink. "Thank you."

"She's in room two-twelve. Go right on in."

They went down the hall the doc indicated, room two-twelve only a couple doors in. He stopped short, turning Jamie around. "Have a good visit," he said, dropping her hand to take her by the shoulders.

"Thanks," she whispered, biting her lip. "Why am I nervous to see her?"

Tig shrugged.

"Okay," she breathed, blinking rapidly. "Here I go."

He kissed her forehead and stepped away, hands dropping to his sides. She headed for the door, squared her shoulders and passed through. Tig parked himself on a vinyl-covered bench in the hall to wait. Just as he found a comfortable position his cell phone rang.

He dug it out of his back pocket, flipped it open and brought it to his ear. "Yeah?"

"Where are you?" It was Clay.

"The hospital. Jamie's sister woke up."

"That's good. We might be able to use her."

Tig frowned.

"Tiny is sort of a travelling salesman, as it turns out. He's all over So-Cal, and he's headed this way to enforce his distribution in Charming."

Tig rubbed his forehead. "I've been waiting for that. I was wondering how long it would take before we pissed him off."

"Hap told you about the dealer Quinn's found in Bakersfield?"

"Yeah, he filled me in last night."

"Quinn's got him answering calls from Tiny."

"How's he doing that?"

"I expect it's under physical duress. But the guy's cooperating for now. Tiny's scheduled to be here tomorrow, asked Quinn's dealer to meet him. We're showing up instead."

Tig's hand tightened on the phone so hard he heard the plastic crack. "Happy told me how the girl ended up here. I hate that kind of shit, Clay."

"I know, Tig. But remember; we took care of the dealer that brought her here. If I remember correctly, you _and _Happy made your feelings known."

Somehow remembering the feel of nose cartilage snapping under his fist wasn't enough to quell the sick anger in his gut. "Don't get me wrong," he said carefully. "The girl wasn't anything special to me, you know that."

"I know Tig."

"But she's important to Jamie."

"And that's why none of this feels better until Tiny's been neutralized. We all want this prick and his asshole friends out of town. And if they're dealing in front of your girl's house, beating people up on her lawn, we need to get him gone. I need you for that Tig."

"You got me, Clay. You know that."

"Church tonight, okay?"

"When?"

"Seven. Gemma's doing supper before that."

"How come?"

"It's been a while. Maybe … maybe you should bring that girl."

Tig nearly laughed. Clay was as good at "pretending" as Tig was. "Is this so the guys can meet her?"

"What do _you_ think?"

Tig just shook his head. "We'll be there for supper."

"Good. That gets rid of one headache anyway."

"Later," Tig replied and flipped his phone shut. After a few more moments of chilling his heels the door in front of him opened and Jamie stepped out. Her face was splotchy, eyes were red, but she gave him a smile anyway. Tig got to his feet, reaching for her on instinct. "You okay?"

"Yeah. She's up, tired, but … I think she's going to be okay."

Tig narrowed his eyes. "What did she tell you?"

"Not a lot. The usual stuff about how sorry she was. I didn't want to push."

Tig felt his lip curl. "She didn't tell you how she got to Charming?"

Jamie looked startled. "No. Why?"

Tig reached around her and pushed the door open, striding past her into the room like he had every right to be there.

The sister looked up, frowned like she was trying to place him, then her eyes got wide and she held up both hands, palms out, pleading. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come back here. It's not my fault, I swear!"

At least she remembered _that_.

"Tig, what are you doing?" Jamie was hissing at him, grabbing his arm. "Don't scare her."

"She ain't that scared of me," he assured her, not letting his eyes leave the sad sack in the hospital bed.

"I'm sorry," the sister repeated, looking like she was about to start crying.

As he stared her down he realized how much she and Jamie now looked alike. Thin, _too_ thin, eyes looking much bigger than they really were. The biggest difference was that Jamie once again was bright-eyed and vibrant. The woman in the bed still looked … wretched.

"Did you tell Jamie why you're here?"

Now the girl just looked confused.

"Tig," Jamie cautioned.

"Don't you think it's fair to warn her what you got yourself into?"

Now Jamie's eyes went to her sister. "What's he talking about?"

The bitch looked confused, too. "I don't know," she said weakly.

"Tell her about Tiny," Tig advised, and he watched her face get even paler, if it was possible.

"Who's Tiny?" Jamie asked, not to him, to _her. _Fuck, he couldn't even remember the sister's name.

"I … I can't …"

"Tell me, Jackie. Are we in danger?"

Tig felt relief at that. Jamie was still capable of self-preservation.

The sister's face crumpled and she covered it with both hands. "I'm so sorry Jamie!"

Now Jamie turned a panicked look on him. "I wanted her to say it," he explained gently. "Those guys that have been dealing? The ones that beat up that guy in front of your house, roughed up Calvin? They all work for a really bad dude we're trying to find. He's a network meth dealer, he's got little operations all over Southern Cali. He's bad news, Jamie."

Her eyes darted to Jackie, but there was no real help there.

"Your sister owes him a _lot _of money. Then she tried to steal from him. So he sold her to a dealer he'd set up here."

Jamie frowned. "_Sold _her?"

"She was into him for forty grand. He felt he owned her. So he sold her and the dealer kept her for his own entertainment. He might have also pimped her out. But I don't know that for sure."

There it was; sweet Jamie, who'd made pancakes and cried while he cut her hair that morning, finding out her sister was basically trafficked back to Charming because she owed a drug dealer less than houses are worth.

He felt like he'd just thrown filth all over her.

She blinked. A _lot_. Then shook her head. "No," she whispered. "No, oh my God."

Tig risked a look back at the sister. She was watching Jamie, biting her nails, tears running down her face, full-body sobbing.

"We don't like drug dealers here," Tig said, mostly for Jackie. "We're going to get this Tiny guy to ignore Charming in his grand plans. And if he won't we'll make Tiny disappear. But if we need your help, I plan on getting it without any hassle."

Jackie looked terrified. Still. "He'll kill me."

"He'll kill you either way," Tig informed her levelly. "At least with us someone else is on the same side as you. So, are you going to help us?"

There was no answer.

Jamie broke the silence. "Jackie? These people? Do they know where I live? Where _Calvin _lives?"

That made the bitch drop her hands. "They took my stuff. You're in my address book. Since you moved I had to put you in there."

Jamie took a shuddering breath, and Tig reeled her in close to his chest before she could freak out. "Not going to touch you, babe. I swear to God I'll die before I let them get near you _or _Calvin."

Jackie watched them, her tears drying up, something coming over her face. Tig didn't bother trying to interpret it, he just held Jamie close and let her hang onto him until she felt better. When Jamie did pull away from him, she wiped her eyes and said, sounding incredibly angry, "Trust me, she's helping you. Because if she doesn't I'm never talking to her again."

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome!**


	47. Chapter 46

All the relief of Jaclyn waking up dissolved. Of course. Because nothing could ever be _great _with her around, shit had to fall apart and she _had _to leave the world in ruins.

What happened to Jackie had been worse than what Jamie had expected. And while it pissed her off that Jaclyn hadn't intended to tell her how much trouble she was in, Jamie also couldn't pretend to be surprised. All Jaclyn had to do to survive was lie and evade. Like a cockroach. Somehow she always survived.

She still cared though, a lot. That was her little sister.

At least the numbness of shock was alleviated by the ride home. Jamie had to admit she _loved _riding on the bike with Tig. She'd always thought they looked so dangerous, but behind him she felt absolutely safe. Plus something about how he was able to easily handle that loud, grumbling beast of a machine was incredibly attractive.

Tig pulled the bike into _her _driveway, killed the engine and waited while she climbed off before doing the same. "I'm sorry," he blurted suddenly as she was removing his helmet from her head.

"What?"

He shrugged. "I'm sorry I didn't just tell you the trouble your sister was in. I guess I thought she'd tell you the whole story."

Jamie shook her head and handed over the helmet. "That's not her style. It's not _your _fault."

"And I meant it when I said I'll protect you."

She felt warmth bubble up in her chest and she was surprised to feel herself smile. "I know."

His eyes ran over her, she knew him well enough by now to recognize that he was worried about her. Not drug-dealer-out-to-kill-you worried, more worried about her health. "What are you doing now?" he asked.

"I think I need a nap. But first I should call Aunt Thelma and tell her Jaclyn's awake."

"Okay." He took her hand. "Listen, Gemma's having a get-together tonight. For dinner. We're invited. You want to go?"

She was perplexed by that. "Really?"

He grinned, and she couldn't believe it but he actually looked sheepish. "I think Gemma wants the guys to meet you. And … I want them to meet you, too."

"How come?"

"I've met your aunt. Your sister. And I certainly know Calvin. I haven't introduced you to my family. And that's my fault. I might need them to look out for you, and you should meet them."

"These are the members of your club?"

"Yeah. They're _my _family. They've got _my _back and if you're with me … they've got _yours,_ too."

She took a deep breath, remembering the crew she'd seen the day she hit that drug dealer with her baseball bat. "Are they dangerous … or are they like you?"

He blinked a couple times, face blank, then threw his head back and laughed. She felt a bit annoyed.

"What? Why is that so funny?"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry. You don't think I'm dangerous. I don't remember the last time someone told me that."

She was perplexed.

He titled his head, trying to be kind. "Remember what you told me? I beat up three drug dealers? Punched that prick out in his own house? And you still don't think I'm dangerous?"

Jamie bit her lip. "I just meant, dangerous in general. Not just to people who probably deserve it."

"We protect what's important to us," he admitted, running his thumb along her cheek. "And yes, _that's _when we're dangerous."

"So the bike thing … isn't a hobby. It's … for real."

Tig's face got serious. "Yeah. None of us are accountants or pharmacists Monday to Friday."

"And some of the things you've done for the club put you in jail?"

"Yeah."

Jamie studied his face, how it stayed firm and decided on what he was telling her. If there was anything he'd lie to her about, it would be _this. _And he wasn't lying. He wasn't hiding it.

She nodded. "Okay. What time is supper at?"

…

"Jamie, babe? It's four o'clock."

She sniffled, rolling to her side and looking over her shoulder at the intrusion on her naptime. Check that, _sleep_. There was no 'nap' to it, she had been right _out. _Tig was sitting next to her hip on the edge of the bed, and when she rolled over he squeezed her shoulder. "You okay?"

She blinked and rubbed her eyes, nodding. "Yeah. I really conked out."

"Would you rather stay home?"

She groaned, rolling onto her back. "No, I want to go. I just need to wake up."

He grinned quite suddenly and she found herself grinning back. "You're fucking cute when you're sleeping," he shared, leaning over to kiss her cheek. And that, of course, made her blush.

"I guess I should get ready," she said through a yawn, covering her mouth.

"Okay. I'll be right out in the living room." The bed shifted when he stood again, and she stretched before getting to her feet, too.

Jamie was rubbing her face as she made her way into the en suite, flipping the light on. Her own reflection surprised her; she'd gone to bed with the scarf on, but it came off somewhere. She'd forgotten about shaving her head.

She ran her hands over her scalp, wondering how the hell one accessorized with no hair. Jamie splashed water on her face, put on a bit of eye make-up and mascara, lip gloss after a second consideration of her appearance. Then back to her bedroom to find something to wear.

Jamie had never been one to agonize over "fitting in." Then again, she was so obviously _normal_ and _bland _and _average _that it just sort of happened. Tig and his friends operated in circles well outside of what was considered _average. _So would they even care if she blatantly_ didn't_ fit in?

She pulled on dark wash jeans, which used to fit like a second skin and now required a belt. That was alarming; relegating herself to pyjamas had made it easy to ignore the severity of her weight loss, apparently.

She pulled a button-down blouse with a black and gray plaid pattern to it off a hangar. Thelma had generously brought over a bunch of her dress scarves months back and from the pile Jamie selected a black one with silver thread in it. She tied it around her head, knotting the ends over her shoulder like a ponytail. She rolled up the sleeves of the shirt and put on a silver bracelet she found in her jewellery box she'd forgotten about.

Something about trying to put together an outfit on purpose made her feel … better. More like herself. She found Tig in the kitchen, flipping his phone shut and turning when he heard her. His smile was wide and real. "Damn, you take no time at all to clean up."

She blushed, again, and let him kiss her cheek. "No hair to worry about," she reminded him.

"You're going to be okay to eat? Still riding the high of that morning blunt?"

She punched his shoulder.

"Hey, oww." It was amusing that he would play _wounded_. "Let's get my girl all sorted, then you'll be ready to meet the guys."

…

Jamie didn't know what dinner at Gemma's would be like. The men standing around the Morrow's house and yard were absolutely what she imagined _seeing, _but that's where her expectations ended.

No matter how little they looked alike, there was a uniform to them that went beyond their leather. They all had ruler-straight spines, walked and moved with a deceptive casualness that you just _knew _meant they were anything but 'at ease,' and had the same edge to them that marked them as being outside of society that Tig had. Underneath that, their characters were completely different.

The man that had terrified her when she first met him all those months ago was, honest to God, called Happy. And he had a snake tattooed on his head, which was intriguing. Happy gave her the same up-and-down he had the first time she saw him, but he shook her hand and nodded with a very gruff, "How you doing?" that didn't seem to need a response.

The one that the dealers had been so quick to stare down the day before was called Opie. Up close he was young, like Jax, and the beard was likely to camouflage his baby face. He was large but his hand shake was light, and he just gave her a smile and a head bob, then with an alarmingly soft voice introduced his wife, Donna and their kids, Ellie and Kenny. And speaking of unexpected, Donna Winston was as normal and average as Jamie was.

Bobby was the one with the crazy snarl of gray hair that matched an equally grizzled beard. He just shook her hand with a muttered and slightly sarcastic "Charmed," before returning to his conversation with the one called Chibs.

She knew that couldn't really be his name, but that's how he was introduced. He was the one with the startling scars on both cheeks, like someone had cut his mouth wider. His greying hair had an unwashed appearance, but he took her hand and to her surprise kissed the back of it while saying, "Lovely to meet you," with a thick, Scottish accent.

Tig pulled her hand out of his grasp, stepping in front of her while saying sarcastically, "Yeah yeah, so fucking debonair. Asshole. Hands off."

It made the Scot laugh, giving her a wink before replying to Bobby's recent comment.

Another young-looking one pumped her hand enthusiastically as he was introduced to her as Juice. This one had a strange, humming energy to him, like he might have been cranked up on something. When he smiled it nearly knocked her on her butt it was so bright, cracking his face in half to show ultra-white teeth and dimples. His head was shaved in a very short Mohawk, with two tribal tattoos on his skull as well. He was easy to like, immediately.

Piney was Opie's father, and he was wedged in the sofa with an oxygen machine. He didn't move to shake her hand; just nodded and took a long drink from his highball glass. She didn't take it personally.

Gemma greeted her with a half-hug while rushing around her warm, crowded and bustling kitchen. Jax was leaning on the counter, not helping his mother, but he offered Jamie a smile and a nod when he saw her, then pulled the woman next to him away from the island to face her while he made introductions that weren't really necessary. It was the doctor, Tara, and the woman's smile was genuine and warm which made Jamie blush. She was embarrassed that this woman had seen her passed out. Why that should bother her she had no idea.

"Can I help with anything?" Jamie offered before anyone could tell her how _good _she was looking or how glad they were to see her up and around.

"Nope," Gemma quipped. "In true Tig fashion, you both arrived in time to eat."

"Damn, she's on to me," Tig sounded like a foiled villain but without looking she knew he was grinning.

The outside door next to the kitchen opened, and Clay Morrow entered. Jamie felt her guard go up again as he shot a glance her way, then smiled at Tig. "You got the girl to come, good for you."

"Jamie, you remember Clay?"

She nodded before Tig finished. "Yes. Good to see you again."

Clay slid an arm around his wife's waist to kiss her neck before letting her go to work on the meal. "She's so polite, isn't she?" he said to Gemma, who just smiled at Jamie.

"Her Momma raised her right," was all Gemma said then held out a bowl of salad. "Can you put this on the table honey? We're ready to eat."

* * *

**I underestimated the Jackie Hate out there. O_O Where's the love guys? What about the sisterhood? :)**

**Comments and reviews, welcome as always!**


	48. Chapter 47

Jamie was next to him on the sofa, tucked under his arm cradling a cup of tea close to her chest, entertained by whatever bullshit Juice and Chibs were trading back and forth, but all Tig could hear was her laugh. It lit up her whole face and had easily charmed his brothers; every single one of them. Even that miserable bastard Piney was smiling.

Opie's daughter Ellie had really taken a shine to her, and was wedged between Donna and Jamie, hands playing with the ends of the scarf Jamie had wrapped around her head. She seemed fascinated that Jamie appeared to have no hair but good manners prevented her from asking questions.

Jax appeared in the entryway from the kitchen, tapping his watch. Tig caught it and nodded, giving Jamie's shoulders a squeeze. "Time to go," he said close to her ear. "I'll drop you at home, then I gotta head to church."

As soon as he said it Tig knew how she'd take it and he almost laughed at how surprised she was. "Church?"

He allowed a grin. "Club business."

"Oh. Okay."

The way she accepted that as a reason for _anything_ made him feel a bit like a prick. She let Ellie take her mug and carry it to the kitchen with a formal, "Thank you, Ellie," and held his hand as they left the house under an avalanche of farewells to Jamie, then headed for his bike.

Tig handed over a helmet and absently asked what he was dying to know without really _asking_. "So? That's my family."

She grinned back at him, fastening the chin strap. "I think I like them."

"Really?" He faked confusion. "Because I'm pretty sure they hated you."

"Really?" She didn't believe him, she was still smiling.

"Yeah. Couldn't you tell?"

"No."

He swung a leg over his bike, then stopped her from doing the same by putting a hand on her hip. "They're crazy about you. I knew they would be."

She dropped her eyes and fucking _blushed _at that. He knew his grin got bigger and he leaned over to kiss her cheek. "Let's get you home, babe."

He hated the feeling of her heat leaving his back as she got off the bike in her driveway. She unfastened the helmet and was handing it to him and he surprised even himself by saying, "Might as well take it inside with you."

Her grip tightened on it. "Oh. Okay."

Even without knowing his world she seemed to realize he was saying she was the only one he expected to have on his bike with him. And she knew that was a big deal.

"When you're done, will you come back here?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I'll go home after."

"No, I mean …" her cheeks got pinker and he realized what she was asking. "Can you come _here _after?"

His back straightened, his chest feeling bigger. "Yeah, if you want."

She nodded. "I would like that."

Tig felt lightheaded, he had to roll his shoulders to keep from jumping up and down. "Okay. I'll see you later then."

She nodded, paused, then leaned over, hand on his thigh for balance, and kissed his cheek. Without meeting his gaze she turned and headed for the front steps of her place. He waited until she was inside, returned the small wave she gave right before she shut the front door, and let himself grin then.

There were few moments that had him feeling like a teenager again. His life was a long list of _been there done that_ by this point, but Jamie Taylor made him feel like a kid.

He was last to arrive at the clubhouse, nodding at the few Nomads holding court outside before passing through the door to SAMCRO's hallowed halls. His brothers were already seated around the Redwood table, and as Tig took his seat at Clay's right he caught them all staring.

"What?" he snapped.

There was quiet as they exchanged looks, and Tig got the suffocating feeling they'd been talking about him.

There was some shared chuckling among them that he didn't get, and it was that Scot bastard that spoke for the group. "We're in love," Chibs shared, "with your lass."

That made everyone crack up, and Tig felt like he was a little too on display right then.

"Fuck, Tig. You got major dirt on her or what?" Bobby asked. "No way that girl should ever have anything to do with the likes of you."

He shook his head as his brothers yucked it up, feeling himself grin, too.

"Okay, enough," Clay eventually snapped. "I can feel myself growing breasts from this cuddly talk. Can we get started?"

There was a mumble of agreement.

"Quinn brought his dealer in. Tiny's scheduled to be here tomorrow. We're waiting for the call for the meeting, should come in around eight or nine tonight."

"Where's the dealer?" Tig asked.

"Garage. Quinn's got an eye on him, don't worry. Now, the dealer confirmed that the junkie gave up her sister as someone who might pay back her debt."

Tig's jaw cranked down.

"They have her name and her address. I'm suggesting that as of tomorrow, at every given moment one of us is on Miss Jamie's ass until we know for a fact Tiny is gone – either moved on or six feet under. Yeah?" Clay cast his gaze around the table.

There was another chorus of grumbled accord. Tig nodded, feeling how his brothers were ready to rally for Jamie in the air of the room itself. "Thanks guys," he said quietly, feeling Chibs knock his shoulder.

"Me, Tig, Quinn and Jax will wait with the dealer for Tiny's call. The rest of you are cut loose for the night. But keep your phones on and stay close while we figure out how to handle Tiny," Clay decided, rapping the gavel down once. Then he jerked his head in Tig's direction. "Care to meet our guest?" he asked sarcastically.

Tig felt himself grin. "Hell yeah."

They had the dealer tied to a stacking chair in the centre of a service bay. The guy's face was pretty swollen, but not so much he couldn't talk.

The dealer saw the new members walk in and started scrambling his feet on the concrete like that would get rid of all the zip ties binding his hands to the chair and miraculously set him free. "Jesus, man," he sputtered at Quinn. "I don't know anything else, I swear it!"

Quinn chuckled and tossed his cigarette butt to the ground, grinding it dead with his boot heel. "Relax, asshole. We're just waiting for that phone call."

Everyone except the dealer assumed a posture of relaxation, leaning against walls or tool chests, lighting cigarettes and breaking off into small conversations. Tig opted to stand right in front of the bastard, thumbs hooked on his belt as he studied this piece of shit.

The asshole was tall, white and scrawny. Just like the rest of them. Even under the swelling and bruising Tig could tell Stretch wasn't a user, he was strictly in distribution. And he was okay with dealing on the same block as an elementary school.

Of course that just brought Calvin to mind.

Tig was freaking out the string bean, but he didn't care, he just kept eyeing him up and chewing the inside of his lip, thinking of the best way to end the fucker once he'd served his purpose.

When the cell rang it was like the lights coming on in a roach motel. Everyone scrambled upright, Clay the only one outwardly calm as he pressed talk on the cell and held it to the dealer's ear and mouth.

"Hello?"

Clay nodded, letting the dealer know he sounded good. There was a pause while everyone collectively held their breath.

"Quaker Pond Road? What am I looking for?"

More silence. Tig clenched and unclenched his right hand, knuckles cracking softly. It wasn't a nervous gesture, it was anticipatory.

"How the fuck do I know what a dairy farm looks like?" Stretch had his eyes on Clay, who was still nodding. "What's a silo?"

Clay and Tig shared a look and Tig nodded. They knew the spot.

"Green roofed house. That's all you gotta say, man. I can find _that_." Stretch licked his lips, eyes darting from Tig to Clay now. "The sister? Yeah, I saw her."

Both of Tig's hands tightened.

"You sure the bitch said her sister had forty grand? 'Cause I saw the house and car, and I don't see forty grand between the both of them." More pause, and the guy's eyes were on Tig now, swallowing. "The sister? Fuck yeah, she's hot. Looks like Jackie but a lot fucking hotter, I can tell you that."

The only thing keeping his teeth in his head was the fact he almost sounded like he was calling Tiny off of Jamie as far as cash went.

"Yeah, you could likely make a few grand off her pussy, man." The guy's voice cracked. "More than you would with Jackie."

Tig felt an arm go across his chest and didn't even realize he'd stepped towards the prick until he heard Chibs mutter close to his ear, "Easy there, Tigger."

Tig knew his face was likely dark and stormy, Stretch couldn't look away from him. Likely why his voice cracked when he said, "You got it. Tomorrow at two. I'm there." There was a hesitation, then the guy nodded at Clay, who ended the call.

As soon as Tig heard that beep all he saw was red. He didn't black out on this one. He was completely lucid as his fist connected with the asshole's jaw. It snapped his head to the side in a way that would likely cause some damage, and there was also the satisfying sound of his rings hitting teeth.

Stretch didn't even straighten up. He remained slouched to the side, facing down at the floor, blood and saliva dripping from his lower lip as he caught his breath.

"Feeling better?" Clay asked.

"No," was the easy answer. This Tiny prick so much as knowing Jackie _had _a sister was more information than Tig was comfortable with.

"Get to her now and don't leave her side unless someone else is there to watch her," Clay advised, grabbing Tig's upper arm. "If we hear Tiny's here early, we'll call. You feel like something's off, call for back up. Yeah?"

Tig nodded. "Got it. But what about _him_?" Clay knew he meant the dealer.

Clay gave a cold grin. "Sorry Tig. If Tiny calls back we want him around to answer."

Tig nodded, backing away. "Okay. Gotcha."

"Later," Clay promised, too low for the dealer to hear. But it was all Tig needed.

Without a backwards glance he was at his bike, pulling on his helmet, and pointing the Dyna towards Jamie's house. He still had her key on the Kermit the Frog keychain and he dug it out of his pocket, wondering if it was weird that he'd attached it to his own house keys.

Her place was dark and he was disappointed. He'd hoped to find her dozing off in front of the TV, maybe in a T-shirt and her underwear. Or just her underwear. But no such luck.

He shut the door silently, then moved through the darkened front rooms to make sure all windows were closed and locked, even the bathroom. Jamie's bedroom door was shut, and he paused right outside. There was no light coming around the edges and it was as silent as the rest of the place. Then he returned to the living room, shrugged out of his kutte and unbuttoned his shirt, setting them over the back of the armchair. He wedged a cushion against the armrest of the sofa, sat down and pulled his boots off. Then, in his jeans and a T-shirt he leaned against the pillow, heels on the opposite sofa arm, listening to the sounds of the street and the house.

He heard the creak in the hallway, but didn't move. Too much to hope that Jamie was coming to get _him_. When he heard her voice ask, "Tig" he jackknifed upright.

"Jamie? Everything okay?"

He could just make her out at the mouth of the hall. The T-shirt she wore only came down mid-thigh, and he forced his eyes off her chest because he was pretty sure she was braless, even with her arms crossed and covering her breast.

"Yeah. What are you doing?"

"Don't want you left alone with that dealer out there, babe. I'll be watching out for you, okay?"

She did that cute thing where she pressed the toes of one foot onto the top of her other foot. It was the marking of a shy girl, and he fucking loved it from her.

"Do you have to be out here to watch out for me?"

He had to swallow. Tell his dick to behave. "Uh, no. Why? You want me to leave?" He wasn't sure if he was giving her an out or making her _say it_ to satisfy his own ego.

"Tig," she said, laughing almost huskily with it. "I'm asking you to sleep next to me. I wouldn't mind. I think … I'd like that."

She was too sweet to be fucking with him, right?

"Are you sure?"

There was a pause, then she turned to head back to her room saying, "Sorry, you don't have to."

Shit. _Asshole - g__et off your ass. _

"Jamie, I'd like that. Sorry, just …" he got up, heading her way as she stopped and turned to him. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"I'm the one asking, Tig," she pointed out, then headed to her open bedroom door.

He had to force himself to let her lead the way. Then he felt that same nervous pause while she climbed in under the covers, barely visible through the moonlight flooding the room. He heard her yawn while she did it, sliding close to the wall and getting comfortable.

_She's too tired for what you're thinking about, _he scolded himself, unbuckling his belt and undoing his jeans. He somewhat folded them, set them out of the way and slid into bed in T-shirt and shorts. He could do this. He could totally sleep here without anything else happening.

Tig was almost proud of himself and he pulled the covers up, then his cockiness was gone. Shit. He was completely enveloped in her scent; sweet and flowers and whatever else that made up the smell that was _Jamie. _It wafted from under the blankets and surrounded his head via the pillow it was resting on. He was drowning in it, and like the animal he was his body reacted, hardening despite his mental coaching.

Shit.

Jamie flopped over his way, and before he could prepare she tucked herself into his side. Like he cuddled a woman every night his arm lowered on reflex, cradling her head in the dip between his arm and chest, bicep like a pillow. Her leg wound around his, low enough she wouldn't catch on to what the throbbing, _mind of its own_ part of him was doing. He dropped his hand to her shoulder, feeling her inhale and nestle close. Out of the pure reflex of having her wrapped around him Tig kissed the top of her head, wrapped her in his arms and closed his eyes.

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome as always.**


	49. Chapter 48

Jamie woke wrapped in a warm, breathing cocoon. Her face was resting on a T-shirt clad chest, her arm stretched around a cuddly mid-section.

And its owner was snoring.

Jamie had to smile. It wasn't a loud, buzz-saw snore. Just a bit of snuffling. It was actually … cute.

Cute. To describe _anything _about Tig Trager. She must be getting soft in the head.

She craned her neck back, looking upward to his face. Moonlight flooding through the uncovered window was almost as bright as day. It cast him in a grey-blue glow. That face was completely relaxed in sleep, mouth open. Seeing him this way was so private. She couldn't even be sure it was really happening. She might still be asleep herself.

Unaware, she raised her hand, letting one finger touch his lower lip. All she could do was think of those lips, that mouth, remembering what he was capable of when he combined them with his tongue and teeth. She grew warm and felt a ghost of a smile.

She was sleeping with Tig Trager.

He jolted quite suddenly, his hand grabbing her wrist quick enough to startle her into emitting a small cry. His eyes searched the room for a threat, and finally saw only her.

Jamie froze, on her side, wrapped around him with the exception of the arm he was holding in place. "Are you okay?" he whispered.

She nodded. "You were snoring."

"Sorry," he whispered back, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again with a head shake. "I usually only snore in my own room when I'm alone. I know; I wake myself up."

Jamie smiled. "It wasn't that loud."

"But it woke you up," he pointed out, running his other hand over his face.

"It's fine," she insisted, and he titled his head down towards her, giving a small smile. She liked his smile, how it just barely curled his lips and only reached his eyes when he _really _meant it. He meant this one.

"You feel good like this," he shared quietly.

Jamie's smile faded a bit. She was wearing a saggy, sad T-shirt and white cotton panties. Her head was completely bald. She should _not _feel sexy right now. But from that smile and his words, she did.

Something changed in the room. A cosy, comfortable cocoon became something more heated and … exciting.

She wasn't the only one to feel it. As she held her breath he rolled her onto her back slowly, his leg sliding between her thighs, eyes not straying from hers for anything. One of those warm, rough hands cupped the side of her throat, and she swallowed nervously, holding eye contact. She almost couldn't take it.

His blue eyes ran over her face with anything but coldness. She could taste that he wanted her, and it lit her skin off with heat. Her hands slid around his shoulders, one wrapping all the way around and the other getting lost in his hair.

"Jamie," he whispered, quite hoarsely.

"Tig," she answered, then he was kissing her. His tongue was in her mouth, his lips were holding hers hostage. His hand was at the small of her back, searching for skin under the hem of her T-shirt. She arched her back, pressing her incomplete chest into his, thrilling at the moan he gave.

She let her hand free of his hair, running it down his chest and under his shirt, up across his stomach and the hair of his chest, smiling as he hissed in a breath with that masculine chuckle.

Ticklish. She remembered.

She yanked up on his T-shirt. He left her for a moment to pull it off over his head. She reached down to do the same, felt herself pause, but he was right there with her.

He lifted up on the fabric and she sat up silently, hands over her head, heart hammering for a different reason. He was the first to be naked with her as she was now, other than a doctor.

Jamie decided then and there she wasn't scared, not of him.

She let the T-shirt come off over her head, dropping her arms and fighting the urge to cover herself up. Not making a big deal of it, he leaned into her, coaxing her back to the mattress again, eyes back on hers, cradling her head with one hand while the other cupped her right breast, squeezing it gently before his thumb passed over her nipple.

"Tig," she gasped at the touch, her back arching, filling that hand completely. He groaned, which felt fantastic, then he was trailing those long, dragging-lip-touches out along her neck as she slid her legs up along his hips. When she realized he was wearing boxers it was because her crotch came in contact with his erection.

"Jamie," he groaned back, pushing against her, and it made her laugh deep in her throat. He was a teenager in some ways, mostly _this _way. It was all wild instinct and want with him; he had no interest in impressing her. He just _wanted _her. Plain and simple. Didn't care to dress it up with teasing.

"Tell me you want this, please," he whispered, pulling at her nipple, making her bite her lip.

"I want this," she gasped back immediately, bringing her eyes to his. His look was pleading, _hungry_. God, that alone would have been enough to turn her on.

His fingers looped into the edges of her panties, pushing downward. She lifted her hips, letting him pull them over her bottom, missing his weight and heat as he rose up to pull them off her legs. Then he got off the bed; she could tell because the mattress sprung back up from his weight leaving it. She heard the rustling of fabric, and when he crawled back under the sheet next to her he was naked.

Completely naked. And she didn't know what she wanted to touch first.

So she touched all of it. His stomach was tightened as she let her hands go lower, finding his erection incredibly hard, straining. He groaned as she closed her palm around it, freezing on his hands and knees over her, eyes falling shut.

Jamie let her own eyes close. Jesus. She'd only had access to so many in her lifetime. This had to be exceptional, there was no way other men were made like this. Her palm and fingers were the only form of measurement she had, and unless treatment was shrinking her hands he was … blessed.

She slid that soft skin upward, feeling a heat uncurl in her belly as he groaned, _really _used his gut to do it and didn't hold back, trying to appear cool.

No, there was no show here. He was as wanting of her as she was of him.

That felt good. That felt _so _damn good it almost made her stop.

She kept stroking him like that, his hips moving in a countermotion, his breath hitching. He moaned her name, moaned things like "Perfect," "fuck, Jamie," and "Oh Christ." She loved hearing it, her own heart rate increased as his arousal did.

"Wait," it came as a hoarse plea, his hand grasping her wrist. She stopped the motion, but he didn't pull her hand away right away. "Jamie," he whispered, and she brought her eyes up to his, feeling herself smile at the heat she saw in that gaze. "Fuck, that smile," he mumbled, dropping his hand from her wrist and closing it softly around her throat, kissing her deep, hard.

She stroked at him more, but he let go of her to pull her hand away, still kissing her, his weight and warmth falling into the cradle of her arms and legs, hand returning to her neck. She couldn't move away from that kiss if she wanted to. She flung her legs around his waist, the heat of his arousal on her belly, the warmth of his kiss growing the ache between her legs, the need to have him fill her was urgent.

"Tig," she pleaded on a whisper against his lips. "Make love to me, please."

He chuckled, the sound again causing a quiver in deep, dark places, answering with "That's what I'm doing, babe."

Her heart set off at that, racing and floating while he brought those kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, and down to the scar tissue of her left breast. Part of her brain panicked, but her skin was incredibly sensitive as his stubble scraped along the smooth planes of her chest, his lips causing slight trembles with each kiss. If anyone had told Jamie her scar tissue would be an erogenous zone she would have told them they were insane. But as Tig kissed, caressed and worshipped every ridge and valley Jamie could have wept for how beautiful it made her feel. Her hands were in his hair, keeping him in place, and he obliged with great eagerness.

His other hand went to her whole breast, rolling her nipple, and Jamie gasped at the combination. She moved her hips against him without knowing what she was doing, she was lost to sensation.

Jamie's skin was blazing, her head felt light, and her desperation was painful. As though he knew when she was at the point of agony, he dropped kisses further down her stomach, parted her legs further, then closed his mouth on her clit. In exquisite relief Jamie groaned, and it was _loud, _but she covered her mouth as her back bowed, the orgasm over almost before it began. But it was spectacular, all she saw was white light.

"Oh God," she gasped, panting hard. "Oh my _God_."

Tig was easing his way back over her, his chuckle completely negating the relief she'd just experienced. "Babe, you are so good for my ego. Honest to Christ."

She didn't need jokes. She grasped his face, pulling him closer to kiss, trying to maneuver his hips into hers. "Wait, babe," he whispered gently. "Just a second."

"No -"

"Jamie, I swear. I'm making love to you tonight, I just need to get something." His tone was overly-gentle. They were both remembering the last time they'd tried this.

"Okay," she whispered back, the bed springing up as he was once again gone to the shadows. She heard a foil package tear and felt almost embarrassed. Thank God _one _of them was thinking straight.

The break did _nothing _to curb her desires. The second he was back in reaching distance Jamie had her arms around Tig's shoulders, pulling him onto her and kissing him with all she had; lips, tongue, teeth, all of it. For his part, talking was done. He kissed her back, winding one arm around her lower back. Jamie's thighs gripped his ribs in anticipation.

He brought his face up, making her open her eyes, worried something else was going to get in the way now. But he was just looking at her, head tilted in thought, lips parted as though he would say something if the moment struck him. His thumb passed down her cheek, eyes trailing down her face then back up to her eyes again.

"Can't think of a single damn thing I've wanted this much," he muttered absently.

She had no answer for that. "Tig -"

"Christ you're beautiful. I don't think I deserve this."

She smiled. "Please," it came out as a plea.

"Good thing I'm selfish," he said, his lips curving in his full, honest smile that made his eyes crinkle. She felt it in her toes and everywhere north of them. The smile faltered, just a bit, as his eyes met hers again. "You're under my skin babe," he said almost wistfully.

Now when she whispered "Tig" it was completely different, she had no idea how to properly reply to that, something so raw and revealing. She knew he didn't throw sentiment around, he didn't have to. "You're under mine," she whispered back. It was the truth.

His mouth crushed hers, the heat of this kiss lustful yes, but there was something else in it, too. Something that made her heart swell as his hips moved forward, joining them completely on one merciless thrust, causing her nails to dig into his shoulders as she cried out, the sound swallowed by his mouth.

She was smaller than him, weaker than him, but she felt anything but helpless; as she held him inside it was _him _that trembled, not her.

* * *

**I know it ain't Monday, but it's Remembrance Day long weekend here in Canada, and my internet got knocked out by a snowstorm, so here I am at work on a Sunday posting a chapter to hold you over until Monday.**

**If it makes it better or worse I have no idea.**

**Comments and reviews are welcome!**


	50. Chapter 49

_Jesus._

Tig had to pause, hold his breath, force himself to stay still for a minute. Christ, this was _Jamie_ and he's just slammed it into her like she was any other crow eater. Her whimper made him feel like an ass.

He'd expected her to be tight. He hadn't expected absolutely fucking perfection. And not just the part he was buried in, all of her. Her soft stomach and chest under him, her legs wrapped around him, her arms on his shoulders. Her mouth breathing against his, hot and sweet and almost lethal.

"Are you okay?" He had to ask it. If he hurt her he swore he'd hurt himself worse.

"Yes," she whispered, and the desperation in her voice had to be his wishful thinking.

"You sure?"

"Tig," she gasped, legs opening more, giving him room to sink in another half an inch.

"Jamie," he groaned, head falling to her collarbone. "Fuck." Shit, now he was cursing in her bed. What a fucking idiot.

"Tig," she repeated softly, playing with his hair. "I want this, I do. Please … _please _don't stop."

He raised his head, brushing his lips to hers. "I'm not stopping. It would take a lot to stop me, babe. I just need a minute."

"You do?"

He brought his hand to her throat again. "Jesus, Jamie. You feel so good."

"You do, too," she returned after a pause, and this awkward moment was _so_ not how he imagined this going the many times he daydreamed about it.

He caught her eyes again. In the dim but stark moonlight they flashed, and he rolled his hips away then back into her, catching how her jaw opened, not relaxed, just an honest reaction. Her body had stopped tightening against him, and he moved again.

"Tig," she gasped, eyes closing.

He knew he couldn't just pound into her until he got off. And he cursed himself out for spending so much time doing just that with the others. He had to go back to wanting to please the woman he was with. He knew how it was done, he just had to revisit the steps.

When her back arched, he brought his hand to her breast, teasing at her nipple. Her body quivered under and around him and he stroked into her again, rewarded with a moan. She turned her head towards him and he kissed her. That got another moan.

Christ, for someone who didn't know how to ask for what she wanted, she was telling him exactly what to do with her body. With just the slightest increase to his range of movement she bit her lip and groaned but it was soft. He wondered why she was trying to be quiet.

"We're alone," he reminded her, kissing her lips, then her jaw. "Let it out, Jamie."

He rolled his hips again, nearly pulling out all the way before easing back inside. This time she cried out, back arching into him. He didn't wait before doing it again, and her legs twitched along his sides. Jesus, she couldn't possibly be close already. There was no way.

He continued that deliberate pace, and she met his every push with a gasp or his name. When she started tilting her hips against him he nearly lost it, sliding his hands under her back and gripping both of her shoulders to keep her in place while he fell back in love with the feel of her on every thrust.

Each time he did it he hit the end of her, and she liked it. She moaned, whimpered, dug her nails into his lower back, urging him deeper, all the while still kissing him and sucking his tongue from his mouth when he got distracted by the feeling of her small, thin body completely controlling his. The realization she'd come completely undone hit him like electricity. She was enjoying it. She was really, _really _enjoying it. Out-of-her-mind enjoying it. She likely had no idea she was making these sounds. He was only going to be able to keep this up a little while longer; she had him far too amped.

Time to get serious.

He rose up on his arms, and without hesitation Jamie dropped her legs and hitched her feet around his knees. The angle was perfect. It made him grunt as he slid into her, looking down on her face and how her lovely neck was arched back. She was panting, eyes on him, waiting.

Tig wrapped a hand over her throat gently. It wasn't to squeeze, he just liked feeling how her pulse was racing.

With minimal effort he thrust into her, watching her body writhe and fall under him. He did it again and she met the movement. With a grunt he gave over, pushing against her, pace increased, her body open and unable to keep him out.

It took all of twenty seconds. Her back arched sharply and she made the most lovely, enthusiastic sound of female release he'd ever heard in his life. All he could concentrate on was her face; her eyes pinned to his, her mouth open as she cried out then fought for breath, the ease and relaxation in her expression telling him exactly how good it had felt. Her entire body trembled in the wake of it, and when the quivering ebbed away he realized he was done, too.

He'd barely been aware he'd finished right along with her. He didn't care.

Tig pressed a kiss to her lips roughly, dropping his weight back onto her, entire body overjoyed as she wound her arms and legs back around him.

"Tig," she whispered to his lips. "Oh my … _God_."

He felt himself smile, easing his head back to take in her face. "That doesn't even cover it, babe." Her hands ran up his arms, and it was not missed on him that they were trembling.

"I have never in my life felt this good."

It froze him, but before he could freak her out he nuzzled her neck. "Jamie," it was all he could think to say.

"Sorry. I'm not cool in this situation."

"No, you're not. You're fucking hot, babe."

She laughed at that, covering her face. The laugh had an interesting effect on his dwindling erection, and he eased out of her reluctantly. Her nails gripped his arms suddenly, and she whimpered just from that.

"Christ Jamie," he muttered, flopping to his back next to her. "I'm not sure I can handle you."

She rolled to her side, her hand running to the centre of his chest. "Liar," she mumbled.

He caught her hand, kissing the backs of her fingers. "I mean that, sweetheart. Jesus. I'm out of words."

When she was silent he risked a look her way. She was studying him, biting her lip. All mindless passion was gone, and she was thinking, and he could tell, somehow, they weren't happy thoughts.

He rolled up to his elbow, running a hand under her jaw. "What's that face for?" he asked softly.

"What do you mean?"

He shook his head. "I think your mind is going dark places, and I don't want that."

She closed her eyes.

"Jamie, babe?"

She shook her head.

"Nah nah, break away from wherever you just went. I want soft and sweet Jamie back. I want sexy, hot Jamie back."

She opened her eyes on a shuddering breath. "I don't think that Jamie is real."

He raised his eyebrows, easing closer to her. "Oh, she's very real. I've been after her for months. She was _just _here."

She smiled at that. His chest eased open a bit. "I'm not usually like that," she said, voice very small and he'd bet she was blushing.

He rolled to his back and pulled her with him, tucking her into his side. "And I'm not usually like _this_," he shared. "But like I said. You're under my skin. I can't help it. With you I'm … naked."

"I like that," she admitted, kissing his chest.

It made him grin up at the ceiling.

"Tig?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't … don't break my heart, okay?"

He squeezed her into him tighter, kissing her head and biting back on the hurt that caused. "Honey, I'd rather cut off my own leg. You gonna promise me the same thing?"

"What?"

He ran his hand around the back of her neck, and she raised her face to gaze down on him, those big eyes so fucking honest. "You gotta promise not to break my heart, Jamie."

She smiled slowly, then looked away from him again.

"Hey," he croaked, pulling her around to face him again. "You gotta promise, Jamie."

"Oh, Tig."

"No _Oh Tig_. That requires an equal response," he wanted her to laugh. He was getting louder, wanting her to at least smile.

She bit her lip, then propped her chin on his chest. "Aren't you too tough to get your heart broken?"

"If I'm giving it to you, it _you _that's gotta look after it, babe." Yeah, he said that. Blurted it out, cheesy as fuck. He wished he could inhale and take it back while she blinked once, twice.

Without warning she surged forward, pressing her lips against his, her upper body resting on him and causing him to slide his hands around her back as a reflex. He felt her ribs and spine again, but mostly he knew only her kiss and how urgent it was as she slid that sweet tongue past his lips, into his mouth, into his fucking _soul_.

He gripped her, likely too tight, but he couldn't help it. This wasn't the kind of kiss that was meant to invite a man to your bed, this was the kind of kiss that was the bearing of her heart and he felt that sweet tingle return to his neck and jaw as she parted, the kiss melting into softer pecks on his lips.

"I'll take care of your heart," she whispered, and he heard something thick in her voice.

He caught a tear with his thumb before it got too far down her cheek. "Hey, no tears here. This is _good _Jamie. It's so fucking good I'm not even questioning it."

"Okay," she answered, which wasn't an answer.

"Honey, I can't even being to tell you how fucked up you got me." Not smooth, but it was the best he had at the moment. "If you knew, you wouldn't be crying. You'd be laughing your ass off."

That got a better response. Jamie grinned then nestled into his side again.

"I'm in trouble," he muttered, arm behind his head as his eyes closed. "So much sweet-tasting trouble."

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome!**


	51. Chapter 50

Tig dropped off to sleep but Jamie just _couldn't_. Her heart was still racing, her body still lit up, and her face wouldn't cut the smile.

All because this biker from next door made it safe for her to drop all walls and enjoy herself. That thought on its own nearly made her tear up again.

It had been wonderful, yes, but scary as well because she wasn't just hot for him. If that had been the case she would have shut him out months ago from blind fear.

He snuck in on her, just a bit at a time. Letting her know he thought she was attractive, _blatantly_. She didn't know men actually did that, but from him she loved the attention. And being great with Calvin was the final nail in the coffin of her resolve. Hell or high water she was ending up in his arms, she just hadn't realized it until right then. And with everything else she had going on … he could give a shit. He just wanted her. So she let it happen, no thoughts of whether or not what she was doing was right. Or weird. Or wrong. She just trusted him, and was so glad she had.

Amazing.

Astounding.

The kind of sex where your body would never be the same again. The kind where she was now completely ruined for other men because they couldn't possibly compare. The kind of sex that only existed in books, or so she thought. The kind of experience _everyone _was searching for.

The kind of sex that meant she didn't open her eyes until eleven twenty-two the next morning.

She frowned at the alarm clock, not wanting to move because she might wake the man currently serving as her pillow. But no amount of blinking changed the time.

Then she heard the front door open.

"Shit," she whispered, sitting straight up and feeling around the covers for her T-shirt. Where the hell had it gone?

"Morning babe," came a rough, warm, low and terribly sexy greeting, but she was too much in full freak-out to really appreciate it.

"Thelma and Calvin are back," she hissed, brain torn between figuring out where her clothes ended up and how to explain away the fact that Tig was there.

"So?" he mumbled, pulling her back down into the covers with him, winding an arm around her waist and actually _cuddling_ her.

"I have to get up," she returned, pushing at his hand and trying to sit up.

"What are you more worried about? Thelma knowing I'm here or Calvin knowing I'm here?"

She sighed, eyes scanning the floor. She saw the T-shirt she'd been wearing as pyjamas and leaned over him to snag them up, making him chuckle in the process. He shoved the covers off the both of them and she jerked away, grabbing for the sheet to pull it up to her chin.

He sat up, completely naked and just as comfortable that way as she'd ever seen him. "Should I scurry through the window? The bike's in your driveway and I've got my shirt and cut in the living room, babe."

She didn't know what a _cut _was but it sounded bad. She hoped it wasn't a weapon. "Shit."

"Jamie, you're a grown woman. Thelma knows that. And Calvin's …" he waved his hand. "_Nine._"

"He knows where babies come from. I've had that talk with him."

"Oh."

Jamie tried to keep herself covered while sliding the T-shirt up her arms. Tig pulled the sheet away, and just as she was about to give him shit he completely floored her. "Don't cover up, babe. Not from me. I've worked too hard to get this close to you."

Her arms flopped into her lap, T-shirt half on, and she stared at him, the kindness in those blue eyes enough to take her breath away. "Tig …" was all she had to respond with.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, hand running up over her head to the back of her neck, where he reeled her closer before kissing her.

_Shit_. She had to remember to not kiss Tig Trager in bed when she was supposed to be _hurrying_. And certainly not when she was naked. And he was naked. And he said she was beautiful. And his hands were warm and his lips tasted amazing …

She pushed him back. "Tig, that door doesn't lock. It's broken."

His grin was slow and … dammit, far too sexy. "Really?"

She sighed. "Please put some clothes on."

"You sure?" he brought his nose to her jawline, voice low and rougher when he spoke quietly.

"Please?"

He nipped her ear lobe and her eyes closed. "Damn Jamie, you always smell this good, don't you?"

"Okay," she hissed, pulling away and yanking the T-shirt down. "Clothes, please Tig."

She got to her feet on the mattress and stepped over him, trying to avoid his hands as they successfully made a bid to grab her bare ass under the T-shirt. She likely flashed the whole show but in panic mode she couldn't care. She found her panties next, wiggling into them and turning back to find Tig still lounged out fully naked on her bed. Naked and _excited,_ and she couldn't be held responsible for where her eyes went.

She'd only _felt _it the night before, she hadn't seen it.

"Jesus Christ," she whispered, then shook her head and forced her eyes away. To his face, and the too-proud-and-masculine-to-be-acceptable look he had. Which on him was completely acceptable … and attractive.

_Shit._

"Get up and get dressed, please."

"Okay babe." He finally sat up, reaching to the floor for his shorts. She tossed the jeans and T-shirt to him next then headed to her dresser to dig out her bra. You know, for _decency's _sake.

She wrangled the thing on under the T-shirt, thankful the shirt was so large, just in time to hear her bedroom door open. She thought someone was coming in without knocking, but felt her stomach drop as she watched Tig walk out of the bedroom sorting out his T-shirt before pulling it on.

Walking into the hallway and the living room shirtless.

"Shit," she said it out loud this time, closing her eyes and waiting for the fallout. She pulled jeans from a drawer and yanked them on, zipper just done up as she hit the hallway herself.

"Oh, good morning Tig," she heard Thelma saying as she rounded the corner to the living room. "_Jamie." _Her name was added on with a big shit-eating grin, and Jamie tried to make eyes telling Thelma to play it cooler than that.

"Tig? What are you doing here?" Calvin asked, plopping onto the couch, remote in his hand forgotten. His eyes flicked to Jamie then got wider. He was about to ask something else then Tig started talking.

"I'm here to make you breakfast, Chuckles." He pulled his shirt on, then pointed to Calvin with meaning. "_Fancy_ breakfast."

Jamie melted just a little. How'd he know about _fancy _breakfast?

Calvin frowned. "Is it your birthday?"

"No. Sometimes you just deserve fancy breakfast." He shot a wink at Jamie. "Like when you get lucky the night before."

"Jesus _Christ_," Jamie muttered.

Aunt Thelma grinned wider.

Calvin frowned deeper. "Did you go to the casino?"

Tig cracked up and Jamie covered her face with both hands. "Yeah Chuckles. You got it. Hit the fucking jackpot, too."

She lowered her hands to just cover her mouth, feeling her cheeks warm. Tig was smiling at her and the warmth sunk further down her neck and chest.

Aunt Thelma was still grinning like the cat that got the cream.

"Let's go buddy, help me make Aunt Jamie breakfast. Okay?"

Calvin got to his feet and followed Tig without question. She shared another look with her aunt. It was probably too much to hope for that Aunt Thelma still wasn't talking to her, right?

"Aunt Thelma," Tig greeted her with great familiarity, lowering his head to kiss her cheek before passing by.

"Good to see you again, Tig," Thelma returned, clearly pleased as all shit.

When they were alone Jamie exhaled, flopping into the arm chair and covering her head with her arms. "Shit," she muttered.

"Jamie -"

"I'm sorry," she cut Thelma off. "He's been here the last two days. He's been wonderful to me. I … I couldn't help it."

There was no answer, so when she uncovered her head she was surprised that Thelma was sitting on the sofa across from her, hands on knees and still grinning.

"Jamie honey, where'd your hair go?"

Jamie frowned, then flattened both palms to her head. "Oh my God, that's right. I … I shaved it off yesterday."

"What does Tig think of it? Like I need to ask."

Jamie bit her lip. "He helped me do it."

Thelma bit her lip too, and her eyebrows rose in a way that meant she was tearing up. "You look beautiful, Jamie. I wish you always looked this … happy."

She must be nuts. "I'm embarrassed," Jamie admitted.

"For what? You're a consenting adult."

Jamie shook her head.

"You look great, honey. The colour in your cheeks is back. Your eyes are bright and lively again. He's almost as good for you as your treatments will be."

Jamie sniffed. "Aunt Thelma …" she paused. She didn't have that _girl talk _friend anymore. A few of the ladies at the Town Office might have been close enough for that but now that she wasn't working with them they were just … former co-workers. Aunt Thelma really was all she had. "I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"Him," she whispered back. "He's going to hurt me. He's going to break my heart, I know it."

Thelma got to her feet then knelt in front of her to hug her. "Jamie honey, sometimes I just _know _things too. And I know that a man asking a nine year old to help him make breakfast and build a motorcycle is not going to hurt you like that."

"Thelma -"

"A man that helps a girl shave her hair off isn't just hanging around to love her and leave her. A man who looks at you when you're at a low point and still decides to be there the next morning has more on his mind than getting his rocks off. And a man who wants to wait to make sure you're ready is ready to be more than just another night."

Jamie had to smile. "You're so wise, Aunt Thelma."

"And you're braver than you think." Thelma pinched her cheek. "Now. Let's hope you earned us all a really good fancy breakfast."

"Aunt _Thelma_!"

* * *

**Comments and reviews are welcome!**


	52. Chapter 51

The wind rustled leaves. Gravel crunched under his boots. Birds were making a ruckus on top of the grain silo to the east of a ramshackle two-story farmhouse with white clapboard siding that was sagging like the green-shingled roof just decided it was done and was slowly taking the rest of the house with it. Grass stood waist-high around the foundation and the shrubs were taking over the flower beds.

Tig, Bobby, Jax, Opie, Chibs and Clay were all cooling their heels out of the sun in an old stable that was almost scarier than the house it matched. Thank Christ it hadn't been used in decades – that stink in this heat would have been less than pleasant. The doors were closed but a missing board about five feet up afforded a view and a firing position.

Their bikes were hidden away with them in the stable, the van that Bobby drove parked around the back out of sight. Everyone was quiet, but Tig's head was humming loudly with the urge to cut this Tiny bastard off at the knees. Half his energy was being spent watching out for the dealer that was still tied to a chair right in the middle of the stretch of dirt and gravel between the house and stable. The other half of his energy was fighting off his biggest distraction at the moment.

Now that he was away from that house and Calvin and Jamie he was … worried. Fucking _scared _was more like it. The same elephant was sitting on his chest as the one that parked there the second Jamie fainted in front of him.

His own natural reaction to caring about someone.

Walking around dealing with the scum of the earth day-to-day wasn't a problem for him. It hadn't been, anyway. With someone to worry about, someone you want to have around, protect … it was already exhausting. And he couldn't shake the feeling that, somehow, he was going to end up letting her down.

And not only because of the _scum _factor, either. His eyes narrowed on that piece of shit dealer and knew this was one thing he could absolutely protect her from. He'd tear men limb from limb if they so much as sneezed around her. He couldn't protect her from _him_ though, and he had a long history of being a fuck up.

Breaking him out of his own head, two black SUVs rolled up the dirt drive, and Tig just gave a short, "They're here."

He felt his brothers fall in next to him, and they watched three men get out of one vehicle and four out of the other. They may have been outnumbered but at least they had the element of surprise so far.

That is, until the dealer started squealing like a stuck pig and gesturing to the stable with his head.

"Eight counting the dealer," Chibs reminded them and Tig heard safeties release as he grabbed his own piece from his back. "Six of us."

"That's him," Jax pointed out, cold and level. "That fat fucker with the hat. That guy matches the dealer's description of Tiny."

He did, too. Heavy set, about six and a half feet tall, Mexican. Which was interesting since the neo-Nazi fucks were taking orders from him.

Without another word Tiny's hand came up, gun appearing almost out of nowhere, and plugged one into the dealer's head.

"Make that seven," Chibs, ever the smart ass, pointed out.

"Still doesn't feel fair," Tig chimed in.

Jax was grinning, so was Clay. It was Clay who shut everyone up. "You two can let them shoot you if it'll make you feel better about the odds."

The seven assholes started walking their way, and Tig frowned. "They're not even taking cover."

"What the hell was that dealer saying to them?" Jax whispered as they all, without argument, brought their weapons up shoulder-height.

"Do we take Tiny?" Opie asked.

Clay make a grunt of indecision. "'I'm kinda in favour of just wiping the shit off my boot heel, you know? What's the point asking why it stinks and why it picked me?"

"He could be important to talk to, find out who _he _works for, make sure we're not stepping on any big bad steel-toes," Jax pointed out, none of them looking at each other, all focused on the posse headed their way.

"No dealers in Charming," Clay muttered back.

"Anyone see any blow back?" Jax asked.

"No," Tig answered immediately. He wanted him dead so bad he could taste it.

"This is the guy everyone's scared of," Chibs reminded them. "Which points to him being the top. Without him …" he left it at that.

Tig found himself nodding. Better to ice the fucker now. Get it done in a rain of bullets, then he can go back to Jamie's, look her in the eye and tell her Tiny was no longer an issue.

_That _thought made him grin.

"I don't think they know we're here," Opie said. "I have no idea what that asshole said."

"Shit," Jax muttered, and everyone shifted like the nerves had set in.

Suddenly Tig had a moment of clarity, knowig what was bugging Opie and Jax. How could this be the guy running this all-but-clandestine operation, approaching a closed building that he had, allegedly, been warned about. A big-time dealer wouldn't make this mistake.

This guy was ... too stupid, frankly.

Tig was about to answer, but Clay beat him to it. "Who the fuck cares?" the prez snapped quietly. "On three. One. Two."

The stable erupted in gunfire, the smell of used gunpowder a familiar sting in Tig's nose. The seven men out in the sunshine literally had no idea what hit them. They were completely shocked as their chests exploded, getting at least seven rounds per stooge before their bodies hit the dirt. When all were down the shooting stopped, leaving behind ringing ears. Tig winced, rubbing his temple. Fuck, that was a sign of getting too old.

"Everyone grab an end," Clay snapped, pushing the stable doors open. The fresh air felt good, even if it was hotter than hell outside. "Leave these pricks in the stable."

Tiny took five guys to move. The rest were two-person operations with Clay watching, sucking on the strong end of a cigar.

"You don't want 'em buried?" Tig asked for clarification while he and Opie hauled a member of Tiny's entourage past their president.

"Doesn't really send a message if they're not found," Clay pointed out.

When all the bodies were piled up like firewood Clay declared business "taken care of." Bobby climbed up into the van after retrieving the chair the dealer had been tied to (it _was _TM property after all) and they headed back to Charming town limits. Tig gave a wave to indicate he was peeling off the formation and headed for his own hood, parking his bike in his driveway. Two more Harleys were on the street outside of Jamie's place, blocking in Thelma's truck.

Half-Sack was sitting on her front stoop, smoking. He got to his feet as Tig approached, tossing the butt to the side. "They went to the hospital," the prospect informed him, hiking up his jeans. "Juice followed."

"Who else is here with you?"

"Happy's out back, eye on the yard."

"Good," he declared, then pointed. "And pick up that fucking cigarette butt. Where do you think you are right now?"

Half-Sack scrambled to retrieve it from under some kind of shrub and Tig circled the house to the back. Happy was on the deck, seated in a chair, watching the clouds go by. Looking bored out of his mind.

He nodded to Tig as he climbed the climbed stairs. "How'd it go?"

Tig shook his head. "I don't know. Too easy."

"You get him?"

"Yeah. He showed up with a few guys, we thought the dealer was telling him about the set up, but they started walking up to us like they didn't know we were there. Or who we were."

Happy frowned.

"Like shooting fish in a barrel," Tig continued. "_That's _this badass dealer everyone's so scared of? He's an idiot."

Happy shrugged.

"Or maybe the dealer was begging for mercy. But that makes no sense. He was tied to a chair and bleeding. They had to know it was a set up." Tig's head hurt from it, but something didn't feel quite right with all of that.

"Maybe the guy _was _an idiot."

Tig shook his head. "Nah. No one would tell us shit about Tiny, man. He wasn't an idiot. People aren't scared of idiots."

"What did Clay say?"

"Clay considers it done."

Happy nodded. "Well, there's your answer man. Hey – this broad got any beer?"

"I do at my place," Tig answered, still thinking. Then he grinned. "You know how to fix a door lock?"

* * *

**Comments and reviews welcome!**


End file.
